“Anyway, I think we should go to Hogsmeade this weekend. I need some new robes from Gladrags, and you keep promising me we’ll go to Madam Puddifoot’s,” said Pansy Parkinson, gesticulating with her fork. On the end of it was a stewed carrot that Draco felt sure was going to fly off and hit Goyle in the head at any second. It was rather a large target, after all. It was a wonder more things didn’t come into contact with it, now that Draco actually thought on it. Rather, things seemed more often to come into contact with the boy’s fists. Of course, there was a reason for that. Usually it was because Draco had told him to. Goyle, and the ever silent Crabbe, took orders without question. And that was how he liked it.

“Draco? Draco, are you even listening to-“

“Yes, Pansy,” said Draco sharply, cutting her off. “I heard every word. And we’re not going to Hogsmeade this weekend. I have work to do.”

“Work?” sniffed Pansy, repulsed by the word. “What kind of work? You’ve got to be at least a week ahead in all your assignments. You’re always locking yourself up in your room, studying.”

Half of that was true. Too often he had boarded himself up in his room, claiming he was studying just so he could get away from his on-again-off-again girlfriend. It wasn’t that Pansy didn’t have her uses. It was just… Well, her company wasn’t one of them. Dating a pure blood, and one from a family nearly as prestigious as his own, gave off the right sort of impression to people. And while she was far from being the most attractive girl in Slytherin, she wasn’t ghastly either. She had the best that money could buy, and that meant she carefully concealed every figure flaw with the most expensive cuts of fabric, and she could almost pass for pretty with all the makeup she wore. Draco knew it was all a deception, and that underneath it she was plain and insecure just like everyone else, but she gave off the right appearance. That was what mattered.

That and she gave good head.

“Did you forget, dearest?” he asked in an ironically saccharine tone. “I’m the head of house now. I have Head duties I need to take care of this weekend.”

Pansy clearly wasn’t appeased. “Like what?”

His teeth grated together, and gray eyes snapped sharply up to meet her pointed gaze. She met it evenly, not backing down. She was far too strong willed for a woman, he thought.

“It’s top secret. Dumbledore only wants the Heads to know,” he replied through his teeth. It was an unconvincing lie, but he didn’t care. He was tired of her incessant questioning, and he’d be damned if he was going in Madam Puddifoot’s. Of course he had promised her he was going to take her there. That line worked almost every time she got pissed off, which was often. That or something glittery usually got him back into her good graces without actually having to apologize. Apologizing was one thing Draco Malfoy refused to do.

Pansy sniffed melodramatically and reached for another ladle-full of noodles. Draco’s hand handed lightly on top of hers, slowing it as it neared her plate. “Pansy darling, are you sure you want to be eating that?” he asked sweetly, eyes as cold as ice. “Your robes look like they’re getting a little… tight. Is that why you need new ones?”

Her face instantly drained of color and she stood abruptly from the table, glaring at him with fury. “Draco Malfoy,” she hissed. “I could have any boy in Slytherin- any boy I wanted. You are lucky I am in love with you, though God knows why I am with the way you treat me. We are going to Hogsmeade this weekend, and you are taking me to Madam Puddifoot’s!”

Without waiting for his answer, she stormed away, the small heel of her mary-janes clicking empatically against the tile. Draco calmly stood, trying to mask the irritation of being talked to by his girlfriend like that on his face. The other Slytherins and a few nearby Ravenclaws watched him with varying expressions. Some seemed amused, as if they were mocking him. Idiots. Did they really think he was just going to give in to her like that? Others watched in surprise. Some just seemed to take the spectacle as another saga of their ongoing dramatic romance.

He gathered his books and left the table, heading toward the large door that led outside. He had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors in fifteen minutes, and he couldn’t wait to see what sort of disaster that oaf of a professor, Hagrid, had cooked up for them now. Crabbe and Goyle, on the opposite side of the table, stood too, striding over to flank him on either side.

“Hermione! We have Care of Magical Creatures in about ten minutes!” Ron called across the Gryffindor Common Room, looking decidedly unsettled, as did most of the people in the area who knew the bookish Gryffindor even remotely well. It was always her prim and occasionally irritated tone that was hurrying up two of the most well-known boys in the whole of Hogwarts. For them to be urging her, that was something quite extraordinary.

Indeed, even the young adult herself seemed unusually perplexed by her lack of preparedness, struggling not to show it too obviously as she gathered her books up in a swift and practiced motion, stuffing them into her book bag with a worried frown as she heard a rip. That was all she needed, for her bag to tear at the most inopportune moment, scattering her books and writing materials everywhere.

“Hermione,” Ron hissed, now looking more than a little worried. “We need to go!”

Brown eyes snapped up to him, a frown on her lips. “Yes, I know Ronald!”

It had taken a few minutes longer and more frustrating urging on her friend’s part but soon they were out the door and rapidly heading down to Hagrid’s Hut with a speed that even a banshee would have been impressed by.

Luckily, running seemed to be an essential skill when one was helping protect the world from an evil wizard, so they had managed to get there just in time before Hagrid actually began speaking, Hermione’s hands on her knees as she huffed a little, out of breath. It was at times like these that she envied the boys their love of Quidditch, as they were in much better shape than she.

There was a tug of her book strap and it only took a moment to note that it was Harry, raising an arm up awkwardly so that he could remove the bag from her shoulder, shooting him a smile of gratitude. “Malfoy again?” he queried quietly but Hermione’s scowl alerted all Gryffindors within view to what he had asked.

Of course, it had only been three days since they had begun sharing a common room as joint Heads, but he was already shaping up to be quite a troublesome roommate. It was a good thing that her sleeping quarters up there was magically protected to her password; she was quite sure that he would bring his noise directly in there, just to torment her.

It wasn’t as if he was being disagreeable in other areas. Despite their considerable differences, they had reached an awkward truce about Head duties and it seemed even Draco Malfoy was sensible enough to not antagonise a clever woman about the work they had to do together.

As soon as it came to anything else however, he was positively foul. Last night – just like the night before – she had been trying to study in her bedroom because the Gryffindor Common Room had been quite rambunctious – apparently someone thought it a good idea to smuggle some of the Weasleys’ more choice items in for a jolly good laugh and the quiet she craved was taken from her.

So, she had tried to go upstairs to her new and normally blissfully quiet Head Common Room for some serious studying time, but to no avail. Malfoy had decided to have Pansy up there and whilst she hadn’t been able to hear them all of the time, the occasional noises were enough to break her concentration.

It had been long into the night before she had gotten any real studying done and now, her normally poised and organised manner was beginning to falter. She would have words tonight with him; this couldn’t continue.

For now, Hagrid was talking and she really ought to be paying attention.

“… So, I thought that this year, we’d have a bit more of hands on approach to teaching. Now I got Headmaster Dumbledore’s permission and everythin’, so here is the news,” Hagrid paused for emphasis, evidently fit to burst about this new venture, making Hermione smile ever so slightly.

“In pairs, you are all going to look after a baby magical creature for two weeks!” he announced.

The reaction was mixed, to be sure. Some people, like the more ‘girly’ Gryffindors and Slytherins starting gushing about how they hoped they got a cute animal and others, like Harry and Ron, for example, seemed interested enough for now. However, she could see the wariness in their eyes. They knew Hagrid very well, all three of them.

Hermione herself felt her smile grow wider; she enjoyed a challenge. If she’d have known how much of a challenge this was going to be, she wouldn’t have been smiling at all.

Hagrid bellowed for silence and everyone fell quiet, as expected. “Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose your pairs as freely as you would like. The Headmaster wants to try and encourage inter-house relations… so you’re all going to have to choose someone from the opposite House to work with. No arguments!”

The last bit was yelled in reaction to the expected cries of indignation and unhappy noises, Harry and Ron looking decidedly displeased at this and if she was honest, Hermione wasn’t too chuffed about it either. However, she was nothing if not a realist. This was how it was going to be, so she’d have to just grin and bear it. Besides, she knew who she was going to pick.

“So, who wants to go first?” Hagrid asked tentatively, hoping that there would be a sacrificial lamb brave enough to step forward, surprised when the bushy-haired girl stepped up, her hand raised. “Yes Hermione?”

Her resolve was set, her shoulders set and back ramrod straight, nodding primly to herself. “Professor, I’d like to be partnered with Draco Malfoy.”

Even Hagrid was speechless, so the cries of surprise and indignation from the students went unchecked. Hermione managed to at least quell Harry and Ron with a swift glare behind her. She didn’t even look at the Slytherin’s reaction. She didn’t care in all honesty.

It was the logical choice to her. They shared quarters and had reached an agreeable truce regarding Head duties, so they could do the same with this, she was sure. If not, she’d just take the creature away from him and do the whole project herself.

Yes, it was a fine plan.

"Well," Hagrid spluttered, very nearly speechless, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Draco, do you have any objections to this match-up?"

Gray eyes watched in surprise and a tiny amount of amusement as three Gryffindors ran down the hill towards Hagrid’s cabin where they were gathered. The medium-height, black haired one seemed to be fairing the best, as if running down that steep slope was more akin to flying, which he had always felt more comfortable with than being on the ground. The red-head, a pace behind him, was keeping stride with long, loping paces that made him look more like some uncoordinated antelope than a human, but he kept his feet under him well enough. The last, only distinguishable by her mass of brown hair, was struggling, her heavy book bag thudding heavily against her hip, occasionally stumbling but somehow managing to stay upright.

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Pansy was watching the spectacle as well, her hands on her hips. She rolled her eyes at him and turned away, more interested in her conversation with Patricia Bexley. It seemed they were talking about getting their skirts hemmed just an inch or two shorter. Draco more than approved.

The half giant crossed over to meet them in four humongous steps that would have taken a normal man a short jog, and Potter, Weasley, and Granger came up just in time. Granger was out of breath, panting and huffing from the run. Pansy snickered in her direction.

A few minutes later, when Granger volunteered to announce her choice first, Draco was completely unsurprised. This was surely just her newest way of being a goody-goody, he thought. But when she announced his name, his eyes shot up, a scowl on his pale features. Beside him, Pansy made a noise of disgust in her throat and grabbed for his hand, apparently marking her territory. Draco tore his hand away, stepping forward.

“Yes, I certainly do have an objection to it!” he exclaimed, giving his fellow Head of House a look of utter disbelief. “I don’t want to be paired up with her. If Dumbledore says I have to be with a Gryffindor, fine, but I don’t want it to be any of them,” he said, pointing at the trio with his pointed chin. His eyes landed on the short, squat boy standing next to them. “Or Neville,” he added.

Suddenly, Blaise was at his ear, his long, dark, slanting eyes on Granger. “This could be an opportunity if you played your cards right,” he said, softly enough that only Draco could hear. The blonde couldn’t really see how partnering with his bushy-haired enemy could be advantageous, but he shrugged. He’d just make her do the project by herself and spend as little time as possible with her.

“Fine,” he announced. “Granger it is.”

It was not a surprise to anyone present when the outraged Slytherin declared his opposition and even Hermione had to resist strongly the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, he was as bad as Harry and Ron! It was just a project. Of course, she would take it quite seriously, as she did all her work, but did he have to be quite such a complainer?

Her two friends looked relieved at Draco’s outburst, the black-haired boy already stepping forward to try and bring her back and talk her into reason. She knew just what they’d say – ‘Malfoy, really? Are you trying to get yourself into trouble! We forbid it.’

Honestly, he was just another boy, just dressed in green-trimmed robes rather than red. Apparently defeated, the young woman had been about to declare her second choice – Theodore Nott – when a snort of outrage came from Ron, causing her to whip around, glimpsing Blaise’s eyes on her as she did so. Her skin crawled at the look, forcing herself to turn instead towards the gathering of Gryffindors to find out what her friend had found quite so derisive when Malfoy spoke again.

Immediately, her attention focused on him, smiling in victory. Excellent, she thought, nodding to the Slytherin in thanks before stepping backwards, Hagrid looking quite bemused at the whole situation.

“Well… okay… who is next?” he announced and everyone was surprised to see Ron charge forward, pointing at Pansy Parkinson with surety.

“I choose Parkinson,” he barely growled, looking at the rather unattractive girl’s pseudo-boyfriend in fury at accepting his friend’s choice.

“Oh Ron,” Hermione started, going to step forward, but Harry placed a hand on her arm, halting her.

“Let him do this Hermione. I know this’ll do you no harm – being paired with Malfoy, as much as I don’t like it – but let Ron have his moment.” His voice was supportive, hoping to achieve a compromise between his two friends.

Luckily, he was speaking to the more sensible one, the girl nodding in compliance and letting Pansy accept with an ill-disguised glare at her. This might cause more trouble than she had thought, it seemed.

The rest of the pairings were relatively smooth; Neville was chosen curiously by Theodore Nott, but both agreed with polite nods to one another. Blaise Zabini unsurprisingly chose Padma Patil and Harry ended up with Millicent Bulstrode right at the end, as no Slytherin wanted to ally themselves with the champion of Gryffindor, which was logical enough really.

After the explanation of the project – keeping the pet alive, writing a daily journal and a summary of experiences gained - came the giving of the creatures and when Hagrid passed Hermione – who was now standing beside Draco Malfoy as her chosen partner – a gryphon, she couldn’t help but beam at her luck. This was obviously a fix, maybe his way of making up for her choice. Bless him.

“We can give it a Slytherin-ish name, to make up for the fact that it’s my house symbol,” she offered lamely, feeling the first waves of apprehension at doing a class project with him. Maybe if they spent more time together in this, she would find it easier to approach him about the noise he made.

The moment that filthy, bushy-haired, Gryffindor mudblood had called out her Draco’s name, Pansy’s head had snapped up, ice blue eyes turned venomously on the other girl. Hermione Granger was one third of the wonder trio, too smart for her own good, and her hands and clothes were always stained with ink. Pansy sneered in her direction, once more latching onto Draco’s arm, despite his attempts to shake loose of her. He’d give in- he always did, eventually. The trick was wearing him down. At first he adamantly defended his position. He was stubborn as a pig, and Pansy hated animals. But if she wore at him little by little, like sand gradually smoothing and polishing a pebble, he’d eventually give in. His attempts to get free of her possessive grasp weakened and then stopped altogether, and she smiled in success. Just like everybody else in the world, Draco Malfoy could be manipulated and played.

But now, it seemed, there was a new girl who wanted to tug at his strings, and maybe play Pansy's game of seeing how tight she could wind him. Pansy knew what girls saw when they looked at Draco. He was popular, and the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He was from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world, and he wasn’t bad on the eyes. He could never compare to the likes of Blaise Zabini in actual, physical looks. Blaise, who was taller, more muscular, and had more pleasing- not to mention exotic- features, was far better looking. But there was an assuredness to the way the blonde moved that kept many people entranced. Pansy particularly enjoyed the way he moved his hands and fingers. He was thin and a bit too angular, but he was also elegant.

And Hermione Granger, who thought she could have everything, apparently wanted him too. She already had Harry Potter, who was even more popular, who was an even better flier, who was also from a good family. Not to mention the fact that he was famous. Of course, his reasons for being so didn’t sit well with her, nor her crowd, but fame was fame. And she thought that if he ever took of his glasses, he might not look half bad. Granger had Potter practically drooling after her every move, carrying her books and opening doors for her. Draco had never held open a door in his life, Pansy thought, blue eyes shooting up to look at him. He was staring at Granger with a peculiar expression, and the glower on her face deepened. Granger had to be at the top of every class, and she was every teacher’s little pet. Pansy hated her. Absolutely hated her.

“I choose Parkinson.”

Her head snapped up, sleek black hair bouncing around her chin. Blue eyes met another shade of blue, and Pansy began to see the pieces click into place. “Agreed!” she announced, and strode over to where Weasley was standing, glaring at Draco. If she was partners with Weasley, it would make it easier to keep an eye on Granger, who was bound to try something. The moment the brunette laid a finger on her Draco, Pansy would be there to cut that digit off.

The half-giant began giving each of the pairs their assignments, but Ron and Pansy were far more focused on the pair a few strides to their left. Pansy was surprised to look up (far, far up) to see Hagrid handing her a bird. A Dodo, to be exact.

“This will be yer animal t’ take care of,” he told them, handing her a small, plump, baby bird. It looked up at her with wide, innocent, glittering eyes. “This here’s a Diricawl, and ‘es a baby, so take real good care of ‘em. Oh, and, erm, make sure he don’t burst into feathers, ‘cause he’ll be hard to find again.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” asked Pansy with a glare. She shoved the bird toward Ron and it squawked, bursting into a puff of yellow feathers which slowly floated toward the ground. She looked slightly alarmed. “Did it just… explode?” she asked.

“No, no. They do that when they get scared. Nothin’ ter be alarmed abou’.”

Pansy glowered at Ron, crossing her arms over her chest. “You find it.”

A few paces to their right, Draco was looking at the baby Griffin with a scowl. Really, of all the creatures, he thought. “Fine,” he said as Hagrid left them. “We’re going to name it Salazar. And from now on we’re not going to refer to is as a griffin. Instead, we’ll call it a… a Slythin.”

He nodded his head. Right. Well, that was out of the way.

It was crystal clear to everyone, even Neville, who usually didn’t really pay attention to these things that the otherwise impossible pairing was one of rebellion, even if they hadn’t said anything. Whilst the Slytherin girl glared venomously at Hermione with jealous hatred, Ron was affixing Draco Malfoy with the angriest stare. Unfortunately for him, the bookish Gryffindor actually gave a hoot how her friends acted, even if the Head Boy care not one whit for his girlfriend’s reaction, shooting a quelling stare at him that seemed to coincide perfectly with the dodo’s disappearance.

There were many things that Ron Weasley was not and a gentleman was one of them, scowling at his partner in crime as she screeched that he should find the dodo, casting a look at Hagrid, who, looking quite sympathetic, pointing towards a fast moving ball of feathers that was headed towards the giant’s hut.

He set off; casting a glance back at Hermione despondently but she ignored him. Really, he was being an utter prat about all of this. Though she didn’t have time to dwell on that, looking at Draco Malfoy like he had gone quite mad at his second announcement. “I will tolerate calling the poor creature Salazar, Malfoy, but we are not renaming its species. The last time I checked, you were not a god and therefore get no say in that matter. We are going to take care of Salazar the Gryphon together and you are going to just have to deal with that!”

She huffed, glancing back at Harry with a sympathetic smile. He didn’t look particularly comfortable but Millicent seemed to be polite enough. Good, she had been worried that she would have to deal with two sets of complaints throughout this.

Whatever her partner’s response to her snappy yet logical rant, she looked down at the little creature in her hands with affection. It really was quite adorable – about the size of a football - and remarkably tame, and as she cupped her hands, it sat on them quite contently, lowering its beak to her in a gesture of respect. It seemed even at a young age that they had honour.

Hermione struggled not to coo at it as was the instinctive reaction; there would be no girly behaviour in front of Draco.

None at all. This was going to be more trouble than she thought, looking between Draco’s satisfied smirk and Pansy’s glare. Ron she could deal with; heck, even Malfoy she could reason into being agreeable, but not his girlfriend. All she wanted was an excellent mark on this.

There were several Slytherins nearby, looking in his and Granger's direction, smirking and whispering. One discreetly pointed in his direction to her friend, mouthed something that Draco couldn't make out, and together they giggled. Anger rose like bile in his throat, burning and hot and poisonous.

"Don't think that this makes us friends," he spat, looking down at her with intensified animosity. "This doesn't change a thing. I still hate you and you still hate me. I have no idea why you're trying to make us spend more time together than we already have to, but I don't like it."

The gryphon looked up at him serenely from Granger's arms, content to be held by her. Draco reached a finger toward it and it snapped at him with it's razor-sharp beak, narrowly missing the digit. He quickly pulled back his hand, looking at the creature indignantly, brow furrowed in anger. Already the animal had chosen its master, and it clearly wasn't him. He felt perturbed, as if he had already been bested by her, and his hatred for her doubled.

"Stupid bird," he muttered darkly. He couldn't believe he had to be partners with Potter's little girlfriend, much less with a Gryphon for his creature. He had already had a bad experience with a gryphon once, and he felt as if the eyes of the class were on him, laughing at him, mocking him for what had happened. Admittedly he had enhanced his performance in hopes that the oaf, Hagrid, would be fired, but it had all been in vain. Now, instead of having the half-giant gone from Hogwarts, Draco was having to deal with the same inane professor and a species that he did not get along with. The icing on the cake, of course, was Hermione Granger, whom he detested almost as much as Potter and Weasely. Already he was spending far too much time with her on Head duties, and he saw her far too often in their adjoining rooms. Why, he asked himself. Why did she always have to be out there in the common room, reading her books and writing her papers and practicing her spells? He could hardly leave his room without running into her, and frankly he was tired of it. He'd seen enough of the mudblood to last a lifetime, and now he was forced to be civil to her. No longer could he torment her, or else he would lose his position as Head Boy. No more calling her mudblood or making cruel jokes at her expense.

"A'right, class," called Hagrid, booming voice knocking Draco out of his dark reverie. "Put yer creatures up and ye can go."

Students began shuffling toward the labeled cages, crates, and enclosures that had been set up behind the hut, and Draco strode away from Hermione wordlessly, a scowl on his pale face. There was a wooden marker sticking up out of the grass, apart from most of the other creatures, and all it said was "Gryphon" on it. There didn't seem to be any sort of fence or cage set up though, and Draco neared it, perplexed. As soon as he stepped past the marker, however, he felt a strange sensation pass over him, as if a cool sheet of water had run over his body but left him absolutely dry the very next second. He looked around him, expecting to see something, anything, to explain the phenomenon, but all he saw was green grass, blue sky, and other students milling around him. Hagrid crossed over to him in a few huge strides and looked proudly at the empty space.

"This here's a force field charm," he announced proudly. "Had Flitwick make one 'specially for me. Yeh see, you and Hermione can pass freely in an' out, but the lil Gryphon won' be able to 'less he's with one a' you."

He gestured broadly with his arm around them. "He'll have plenty o' room to run around, an' he won't feel like he's in a cage. Gryphons don't like cages, see."

It was then that Draco noticed that none of the enclosures was exactly as it seemed. Cages, which seemed tiny and fit against the back of the hut, opened up into huge spaces for the creatures, much the way wizarding tents did. Blaise was putting a small, prickly-looking lizard into a small box, but he saw the boy's arm disappear completely into it, as if it led into some sort of long tunnel. Other students were oohing and ahhing as they stepped into fenced areas, which appeared to only enclose a small section of grass from the outside, but which once inside, took on a much greater size, as well as the habitat of their magical creature. Gryffindors and Slytherins, excited over their baby magical creatures and the amazing enclosures, were speaking openly too each other, smiles of enthusiasm on their faces. Draco looked over his shoulder at Hermione and the Gryphon, not feeling the same sense of enthusiasm that the others were. He was nonplussed by the force field charm Hagrid was so proud of, and he was stuck with a partner and a creature he hated.

Hermione chose to defiantly not respond to Draco's enraged rant, wondering why he was even putting the breath into speaking words that they both knew were true. Of course this didn't make them friends, though she raised an eyebrow at the Slytherin in concern. Hatred was a strong emotion and she thought she had felt it numerous times for the arrogant, haughty young man that was standing opposite her.

And surely he had enough intelligence to realise the sensibility behind her choice. Maybe he would mellow out to normal later, like Ron did after being forced to 'time-out', like he was right now, her brown eyes flickering over to Hagrid's Hut with disappointment. There would be a lecture tonight.

The Gryffindor thanked whatever Gods there might be that Draco fell silent after the gryphon had nipped at him, though she felt a rather strong twinge of reluctance knowing that the Slytherin simply wasn't as on board with this educational arrangement as she had hoped he would be. Perhaps, if he could stand to spend longer than ten minutes around her, they could wheedle in Salazar's acceptance of the Slytherin. Surely, taking care of a creature included making sure that it trusted both of its guardians implicitly, which in her mind was neccessary to aim for the highest mark.

Draco Malfoy had obviously lost his drive for academic excellence in the past fifteen minutes - if he had even possessed one in the first place. He was always attentive in class, making him pestering background noise whenever he appeared to know a little tidbit of information that she was not privy to, not that her pride ever let that feeling of discontentment surface to be displayed openly. Hermione would rather die that admit that the conniving and oft cowardly Slytherin inspired anything in her than pity and loathing.

Her attention had been drawn immediately by Hagrid's indication that it was time to set the creatures back into their classes, a glance at her old-fashioned watch telling her that it was indeed nearly time for Charms with the Ravenclaws. Really, time didn't half fly sometimes.

Hermione did not like the looks that her reluctant partner was giving practically everyone, including the Slytherins now it seemed. Doubts threatened to prompt her to speak to Hagrid about doing a solo project, but she shook her head determinedly as she decided to see this through to the end... or at least until Draco gave up first. She dealt with him on a daily basis now voluntarily as he did with her. For, had he really had issue with her as Head GIrl, he shouldn't have accepted the position of Head Boy.

So in her mind, this task was merely an extension of her Head duties and if it further promoted inter-house unity in a time of fear and upheaval, all the better. Things had become quieter with the haughty Slytherin since term had begun again and she hoped things would continue on the same road. It would be most troublesome to try and build on the tentative success of the first week or so if Draco Malfoy returned to his jibing and difficult ways.

This thought process had sustained her the entire journey to around the back of Hagrid's hut, standing just behind her chosen partner, watching his moment of confusion with great interest, especially after Hagrid's beaming explanation. Then, Hermione herself stepped past the little sign, feeling the very same refreshing and mildly disorientating feeling that the Slytherin had felt only moments, the little gryphon standing to attention immediately but not yet moving.

The young creature reared its head towards the Slytherin, growling a little as the Gryffindor knelt down just past the sign for their creature, stretching her arms forward and the creature took a step forward, its beak extending just past the ends of her fingers as Hermione glanced up and across at Hagrid across the way.

Her eyes and ears took in the excitement and anticipation all around them, beaming as their professor coaxed a more anxious pairing into sending their creature into its safe habitat. Then she pushed forward with her hands, urging the little creature onwards with her actions and voice. "Go on Salazar," she said primly, resisting the urge to huff but there was a touch of gentleness to her tone. Really, it was a magical creature and more importantly, naturally stout-hearted.

Suddenly the creature shot forward from her hands into its safe haven, Hermione straightening immediately as she briskly rehoisted her book bag up onto her left shoulder grasping the strap tightly as she turned to the Slytherin.

Impressively, her bright smile held for a moment, though her nod towards Draco was curt. No, friends they would never be, noting as her smile faded out at his positively foul expression. "I'll see you outside the Head rooms at seven for patrol," she relayed before turning and walking away back towards Harry, whose partner had returned to her friends already.

"Have fun with Malfoy?" He grinned, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Hermione did not verbally reply, watching with interest as some of the other pairs waved farewell to one another. Give it time, she told herself, and soon the more reasonable of their year mates would ignore house prejudices.

Then Ron approached, belatedly throwing the Head Boy a most intense glare, the young woman reasoning that perhaps not all minds could be changed. Oh well, she thought as he started complaining about Pansy, exercising extraordinary patience, heading to Charms with her two best friends with not one backward glance at her Slytherin partner.

"How was Granger?" asked Blaise Zabini, who caught up with Draco in a few long-legged strides. There was a hint of amusement on his upward slanting, aristocratic features that rubbed the blonde the wrong way, and his lips tightened at the corners into a frown of annoyance.

"As irritating as usual," he said flatly, shifting his Herbology book into the other hand. "We got a gryphon, of course. I'm sure her and Potter absolutely love that."

"I'd be more concerned about Weasly," snivelled Blaise, nose haughtilly in the air. "He had his eye on you the whole time, and he didn't look happy to see you partnered with Granger."

Draco raised one eyebrow, a skill he had always been quite proud of. Few people could raise a single brow, and he thought it added to his image. He looked at Blaise boredly, shaking his head faintly.

"Why should I care? It's not as if Weasley means anything to me. Good if he doesn't like it. All the better if he hates the situation. At least if I have to suffer with the mudblood, her little boyfriend suffers too."

Blaise made no comment, deciding instead to let Draco have his way, for the moment at least. The two walked to the greenhouses in silence the rest of the way.

At dinner that night, many of the Slytherins were discussing their Care of Magical Creatures assignment, and with far too much enthusiasm. It seemed that only he, Pansy, and Theodore Knott were truly opposed to the situation. The others either liked it (how was such a thing possible? They were with bloody Gryffindors!), or they were completely indifferent.

Theodore, it seemed, was stuck with Lavender Brown. There was a general concensus that even the Gryffindors ought to be pittied, just for the fact that they had to live and deal with Lavender Brown on a day-to-day basis. In short batches, she stuck out no more than any other Gryffindor, but it had been realized by some of the students that she was possibly the most irritating airhead in the school. Her sidekick, Parvati Patil, was a close second and often threatened to overcome her friend in terms of how irritating she was, but she earned back points for her figure. It was amazing what some of the Slytherin boys would put up with for a nice ass.

To make matters worse, Theodore and Lavender Brown had been assigned a Mackled Malaclaw. The creature seemed innocent enough, and looked rather like an ordinary lobster. It wasn't until after Theodore was bitten that he learned that the Malaclaw's bite made the victim unlucky for a week. He'd been having a horrible day since then. Sturdy branches seemed to fall from the trees he walked under, hitting him in the head and back. Stairs that were normally safe to step on suddenly became disappearing. Crabbe and Goyle had had to pull him bodily from the staircase on their way to magic runes. Right before dinner, Daphne Greengrass had broken up with him. Theodore had been asking her to be his girlfriend for years, and she had finally said yes the week before. Now he sat at the end of the table, his face in his hands, a resigned look on his pale face.

"Carrots?" asked Tracy Davis, passing him the bowl, and the steaming contents fell into his lap.

All in all, it seemed things could have been worse, Draco reflected idly. At least Gryphons didn't cause bad luck. Although, he might have been tempted to trade Granger for Lavender Brown. At least Brown wasn't a sodding know-it-all.

OOC: It's been a long time coming I'm aware but I think I've finally got my groove for this thing. I'm having to handwrite my posts to feel like I'm giving it my best. I hope you are well and speak soon!

IC: By contrast, the Head Girl had had a rather wonderful day after her Care of Magical Creatures class. Charms had proved just as engaging as previous years. So enlightening in fact that Hermione hadn't even minded that Professor Flitwick had deftly pushed aside her enquiries about the charm that he had created for Hagrid.

Twice.

Still, her mood hadn't been tarnished, despite Ron's albeit unwitting attempts at such a task. For an impressive four hours after that rather unexpected class, Ron Weasley had managed a near constant complaint string about all three of their partners.

Amidst her classes, the Gryffindor had been paying quite close attention to the behaviour of her house mates. Their seeming compliance to work alongside the Slytherins on the whole would make quite a few of her obstacles as Head Girl easier to manage. Anything that made her life easier, especially when it came to matters that she simply had no control over – her pet hate – was a plus in her book, no matter the source.

Now if only the Head Boy would see things the same way, life would be much easier but at least it was currently tolerable between them – an improvement on past relations. So she focused instead on the difficulties she could do something about – like tutoring Neville in Transfiguration during their joint free period between Charms and the subject in question. She couldn't help but sympathise with the poor wizard, for although he was obviously talented when it came to Herbology, it seemed to make mastering a great many of the other subjects harder than they should be to grasp.

Really, he was almost as useless as Ron at times when it came to grasping magical theory, let alone the practical application but Hermione liked a challenge and Neville was always enthusiastic; a contrast to her two best friends. She often told herself that Harry was a good all-rounder – he understood theory and application equally well, yet he took a leaf from Ron's book of laziness far too regularly to be the 'great wizard' that she had called him once.

“Hermione?”

The question brought the young witch out of her internal musings, her hazel eyes meeting his green ones as they smiled simultaneously.

“Sorry Harry, I was deep in thought. What do you need from me?” she said quickly. However, before the wizard could even open his mouth to respond, an anguished yelp came from the Slytherin table.

That caused momentary shocked silence across the Great Hall, making even Harry, Hermione and Ron to peek over to the table in question, not that they were really in the dark. Lavender Brown had been talking about Blaise's unfortunate incident all damned day. Her lamentations that such a thing should not happen to such a wizard nearly had even carefully controlled individuals – Hermione included – wanting to slap the girl to get her to shut up simpering.

“Serves him bloody right,” Ron muttered under his breath as he served himself some potatoes, Hermione's keen ears catching the barely audible words, her lips immediately tightening into a frown.

“Hush Ron,” she snapped, before shifting her cool gaze back towards Harry, a questioning expression on her features. “You wanted to ask me something?”

The green-eyed wizard nodded briskly before leaning forward slightly so that he could talk lower and still be heard by the young witch. “Why Malfoy?”

At that Hermione rose to stand immediately, glad that she had finished dinner early as she scooped her books into her bent arms that she used as a cradle. “Because he is Head Boy Harry. It makes sense, seeing as I do so many other duties with him already,” she hissed in reply, eyes flickering upwards to land on the Slytherin in question briefly.

She had hoped to avoid that question until later on, knowing that Harry and Ron weren't always understanding of her logical, if uncomfortable choices. Ahough she had been grateful that the question had been innocent, she did not appreciate the youngest Weasley male's growing infuriation with the situation she had placed herself within.

“He's bad news Hermione!” Ron blurted out, reaching out for her forearm to secure her staying to listen to what he thought was clearly sound advice,

“For the love of Merlin Ronald, he's Head Boy and I'm Head Girl! I'm not looking to engage in a tryst with him!” The words were spoken deathly quiet for a crowded dining hall that had returned to loud bustle and noise after the initial shock of Blaise's outcry.

Even if Ron couldn't decipher her words or tone, he was sufficiently quelled by the stern look in her eyes. “I... Fine,” he relented reluctantly after a few heartbeats, releasing her arm but still scowling.

In return, Hermione smiled a little tightly at them both before making her way across the Great Hall to the double doors. It was half five already, but the witch hoped she could squeeze in a shower and perhaps some extra reading before her patrol with Draco at seven.

The smooth, black surface of his highly lacquered broomstick slipped among the trees, its polished handle gleaming darkly in the moonlight. Dark clouds were swirling in the sky, and far in the distance thunder crackled. The rider ducked and weaved among the branches, knees bent and arms outstretched, face tilted upward toward the blackened, swirling sky. Soft, crystal drops of rain began to fall, sliding down his cheeks like tears, catching in his eyelashes and slowly soaking through the thick, luxurious wool of his cloak, warmed by his own body heat by the time the moisture reached his skin.

Draco felt everything with an icy clarity: the brittle, freezing wind across his bare hands, the shifting gravities that pressed against him as he soared in dizzying loops, the moon above him, below him, above, below. He breathed in the forest, tendrils of pine coating his throat and tongue, thick as syrup.

The cold air seemed to make sounds crisper: The loose tail of his cloak cracked like a wind-whipped flag, thrashing against the sides of his legs with every turn. He squinted against the cold, eyes watering, but the tears made his vision even sharper. Sheets of rain whipped past in glittering streaks and moonlight silvered the world. White-blonde strands of hair stuck to his face, plastered down by the rain. Rivulets of water ran across his face, a streak of lighting brightening the sky for a heartbeat. The rain pounded down, his clothing now soaked. A chill ran through him and his pulled higher into the sky, above the trees, soaring weightlessly with his eyes closed, the rain stinging across his face as he flew even faster, leaning forward onto his broom, almost horizontal.

The cold was head clearing though, and cut through the events of the day, leaving him in a state of peace. As soon as dinner had ended, Draco had found himself outside, his body leading him there of its own accord.

He slowed his broom, bringig it to a graceful halt on the flat roof of the astronomy tower. There were no observers tonight. The rain, now hailing down with a loud forcefulness around him, completely obscured the stars, and it made the moon a hazy gray-white figure in the distance. Draco found the door and pulled himself through it, into the winding staircase of the tower. The inside of the castle was warmer than outside, but an uncontrollable shiver ran through him. He had flown in the rain before, of course. Whole games of Quidditch had been played in the middle of storms.

What he needed now was a hot shower and a change of clothes.

His soaking uniform dripped onto the stone floor, leaving puddles behind him, which he ignored. Some house elf would clean them up. It wasn't his problem. And if some little first year wasn't watching what they were doing and tripped, well, lesson learned he thought.

The Slytherin trudged up the stairs to the dormitory he and Granger shared. The candles flickered, making the corridor warm and inviting. Warm, he thought with a longing sigh. That particular adjective was sounding pretty good. When he opened the door to the common room, Granger was nowhere in sight. He deposited his broom against the wall, leaning it carefully with its handle upward. He pried his shoes off with his toes and threw himself into a plush, cushioned chair in front of the fire tiredly. His wet clothing was soaking the fabric of the chair he sat in, but he paid it no mind. Someone else would fix it.

A deep chime from the enormous clock in the corner of the Heads common room sounded seven times, and Draco Malfoy sighed. No hot shower, he thought, peeling off his wet cloak. Time for patrols. Warmth would have to wait for another time. The wet cloak was heavy, and he tossed it across the back of the chair with a sigh. The uniform underneath hadn't fared any better. The dark charcoal sweater was completely soaked, sticking to him uncomfortably, the collar of the white shirt beneath it crooked and turned half translucent. He loosened his tie and took it off, then slipped his wet shoes back on with a soggy "squelch". His nose crinkled in distaste.

Removing his wand from a long, thin pocket along the side of his pants, Draco performed a quick drying charm. He felt the water being sucked off of him, warm moisture taking it's place. The spell didn't completely dry everything. His shoes in particular still felt quite wet, and patches of his uniform still felt uncomfortably damp, but it was an improvement. The charm had almost completely dried his hair, but now it stuck out at odd angles away from his thin, pointed face. His mother would have had a fit, he mused, if she had seen him like this. However, it was his duty as Head Boy to start patrols at seven, and he didn't have the time to make himself presentable as a Malfoy.

Speaking of which, where was the mudblood Head Girl?

At times, Hermione relished the freedom that came with having separate quarters to the rest of her House, even if it did mean occasionally sharing space with the Head Boy, who had, it seemed, taken on a mission in life to try and make her life difficult in some of the most subtle ways possible. Even talking about dealing with Draco Malfoy in a semi-amicable manner immediately set Ron's temper flaring and these days, even Harry looked ill at ease with his best friend getting along with their long held rival. In all honesty, she thought that after five years of schooling together, the boys would have at least tried to find a way to survive that did not involve hateful, pointless insults and yet, alas, sadly not. Her method of talking business with him and not dealing with the Slytherin beyond that seemed to work quite well and implementing such a measure would be a lot easier not living with him.

Maybe she'd try and suggest it to them when they were not so annoyed at the fact she had 'shacked up' – Hermione suppressed a snort of derision – with her Slytherin counterpart, whispering the password to the portrait that led to the shared common room, finding it mercifully empty. Relieved but hardly complacent, she paced across the well-furnished living area and only relaxed fully when only her muted footsteps over carpet could be heard. The stormy weather only made the girl even more grateful for the stone walls that encapsulated the warmth of the open fire, setting the books she had borrowed from the library upon the almost filled bookshelves that were a unique aspect of this common room. It was a feature that, perhaps unsurprisingly, Hermione had been very pleased with, especially considering what Professor Dumbledore had told them as they had been escorted to their quarters for the first time.

From her continuous re-reads of Hogwarts: A History, Hermione was more than aware of the rumours that surrounded the location and style of these jointly shared rooms, despite many past students knowing what lay within. It was a portrait not far from the bathroom that the prefects were allowed to use, meaning that it was easy for Ron to come and visit her after a nice relaxing bath post-rounds and she had already shown Harry how to get there. Neither of them knew the password, but the portrait could be asked to allow certain people through as guests but only when accompanied by Hermione or Draco. This meant that their personal space did not get encroached upon without the direct involvement of the other Head pupil and any purposeful violation would mean immediate revoking of their title and position. After all, they were supposed to be setting a good example for the others to follow.

At any rate, Hermione found the rooms as comfortable as the Gryffindor common room though she had originally noted with amusement that the rooms were all decorated in colours that were not house related, so to avoid controversy. There were a few comfortable chairs, a couch, numerous bookcases and a large window that had already been used frequently for mail to be sent to them regarding Head duties.

Thunder clapped heavily then, disrupting her from her inner musings to remember with a start that she wanted a shower before some light reading. Books were likely to put her in a good enough mood to bring up the topic of the noise that Draco and Pansy made on a near daily basis. If the Head Boy did not listen, of course, Hermione had every intention of warning to make Professor Dumbledore aware that his social exploits were interfering with her studies. Seeing as soon as she had obtained the reading list for the year during the summer, Hermione had personal copies of all the textbooks scattered throughout her bedroom and the living area. Although initially holding reservations about leaving her books out within Draco's reach, so far she had seen him browsing through them, but none had disappeared. It was, at least, some progress. Then again, maybe he had not realised that the books were hers yet.

Lost in printed words, Hermione reluctantly pulled away from the mound of books around on her bed at sounds of movement outside her portrait door, half-rolling so that she was standing on the far side of her bed. The sounds of squelching – that certainly did not sit well with her practical nature; what had he been doing – were silenced as the clock chimed.

Seven o'clock. Well, she mused as she set down a Herbology textbook, for all his faults, at least he's punctual. There could have been worse Head Boys, she knew. “Hello Draco,” she greeted, stepping out of her bedroom and taking in his dishevelled appearance with a raised eyebrow. He would object to her calling him by his given name, she knew, but they were supposed to be working together and Hermione refused to let a silly, petty House rivalry get in the way of simple politeness now that they had to spend a lot of time together, by choice or not.

This would be their first patrol together as a pair, having already worked out schedules for the entire term. Another good thing about her counterpart; he did not shy away from commitments, at least when it came to Head duties, so even if he was an insufferable prat the rest of the time, he at least made an effort when it came to things that simply had to be done.

Pulling out her wand with a raised eyebrow, Hermione gestured to him questioningly. “Do you want me to try and make you less... damp?” she asked, not out of kindness, but simply because she did not want to have to deal with a wet, sulking Draco Malfoy all patrol. That would get very tedious and she did not want to ruin the strained accord they seemed to have achieved already.

Draco's eyes flashed; anger mixed with distrust colored his pale features, which he set into a scowl. “Never point you wand at a Slytherin unless you're looking for a duel, Granger,” he spat, turning sharply on his heel to leave the common area, not looking back to see if she was following. He'd be damned if he was going to let Potter's little mudblood cast a charm on him, especially as an improvement on his own. He'd rather be soaking wet than have her cast a drying spell on him. She was such a bleeding do-gooder, he thought contemptuously. Always acting better than everyone else, always on the 'good' team.

She may have been the Head Girl, but damnit, he was the Head Boy. Draco Malfoy would not put up with her know-it-all behavior the way everybody else did.

They performed their patrols in silence. Draco was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to make conversation, and besides, what was there really to say to her? Dumbledore had made it infinitely clear that their roles as Head Boy and Head Girl were dependent on their ability to set a good example of friendly inter-house relations for the rest of the school. Were they to be caught fighting, they both might lose their titles. The humiliation would be great.

Saying nothing to her was easier than trying to say nice things to her, or even neutral things. He didn't care what she thought about last week's transfiguration exam, he didn't want to hear about which books she was reading, and he certainly didn't want to hear about Potter and Weasley. He was silently praying the silence between them would last.

Draco was suddenly stopped in his tracks. Had it not been for the sharp “Pop!”, he would have tripped over the house elf that had just appeared. It cowered in front of him, it's bulging eyes aimed at the floor, shivering nervously in it's dingy loin cloth. Draco took a quick step away from it, taken aback by it's sudden appearance. Though he knew that the castle employed many house elves, he had never seen one. House elves made themselves almost invisible to their masters, only appearing if needed. All their work was done when no one was looking. To see one of the disgusting little creatures in front of him was far from usual.

“M-Master Malfoy-” it croaked, tennis-ball eyes flicking up at him for less than a second before focusing on the floor once more. “Vurney comes to tell you-- to tell you-- to tell you that... that--”

“Oh, on with it!” cried Draco, at the brink of his patience. “What did you come to tell me?”

The elf's eyes welled pitifully with tears, threatening to spill in enormous drops down it's wrinkled, knobby face. If it didn't answer it, Draco was ready to teach it a lesson.

“The missus Malfoy, she's been kidnapped!”

Tears rolled down from it's enormous, bulging eyes and it shook violently, cowering below him, waiting for the expected blow from his master. It didn't come- Draco was in shock and hardly even saw the elf. His mind was reeling.

“Kipnapped by who?” he demanded. Was it by a fellow Death Eater hoping to usurp his father from his prominent position? Was it one of the many that the Malfoy family had wronged, seeking revenge?

“The- The Order, Master!” said the elf, trembling from head to toe. “It was the Or-Order of the Ph-Phoenix! The Order that stole the Missus!”

“Why?!” demanded Draco, advancing angrily on the creature. “Where did they take her?!”

The house elf froze, it's body going rigid, eyes opening wide. “The Master...” he whispered. “My Master summons me...”

And the elf disappeared with a sudden pop. Draco tried to grab at it before it disappeared, but it was too late. His fingers made no purchase and he grabbed at thin air. “No!” he yelled. “Come back! I'm your Master! Tell me where they took her!”

The long, empty corridor echoed back at him with his cries, but there came no answer. He couldn't summon the elf if his father demanded it. In the Malfoy family, Lucious was head, of that there was no question.

Eyes wide, full of anger laced with panic, Draco whirled on the girl a few steps behind him. “You!” he hissed, drawing his wand and pointing it at Hermione. “I know that you and your little friends help the Order. Why did they kidnap her? Where did they take her?!”

His wand was poised, aimed right at her chest.

It was not often that Hermione challenged Dumbledore's decision, but walking in silence alongside one of a house that abhorred her existence in mere principle, she wondered how this could ever get better when it was only her actually putting effort in to be nice. Then again, that might actually be the problem, for his worst moods came out at those precise moments. 'I'm hoping for a miracle and we've already had one of those this generation. I'm doomed.'

If he had only let go of his pride for two seconds, Draco would be warmer and Hermione's nerves would not be rapidly fraying with the sounds of squelching as they did their rounds around the fifth floor but no that was far, far too much to ask of him. Awkward or not, she did not relish trying to strike up a fruitful discussion with the sour Slytherin and when the house elf materialised before them both with an audible pop, Hermione hesitating a few steps behind the boy, frowning. The poor creature was distressed and Draco Malfoy was treating it... him... (Hermione could not tell) as if its well-being did not matter in the great scheme of things.

Perhaps a house elf actually daring to appear before him had rattled his good sensibilities, Hermione thought, half-listening to the news that the magical being imparted, not wanting to be rude if the information was confidential. Vaguely, she was aware mention of his mother, Narcissa Malfoy... wait, did the house elf say kidnapped? That snapped the Gryffindor right back to attention, startled for a very different reason than the Head Boy.

The Order had kidnapped Narcissa Malfoy. That made no sense! Who would suggest that and more importantly, who would actually dare to try and snatch the Malfoy lady from right under the enemy's nose? Pieces were not adding up fast enough and her mental racing distracted her away from the distressed Slytherin to not really pay any attention to him until he had pulled his wand on her.

'Bugger.' Completely at a loss for words, both in terms of explanation and rational argument to talk Draco Malfoy down (because he was hardly going to listen to reason right now!), Hermione stared the boy down without letting a shred of her self-doubt flow through to her expression. Instead, sympathy flashed through her eyes, feeling sorry for him. No matter how bad a person was, no one deserved to be told news like that, especially not at his age.

“I'm sorry Draco, but I'm...”

“What is going on over there?” came a stern, sharp yell from halfway down the corridor. The voice belonged to the Herbology professor, rapid footsteps indicating that she was very close by, possibly around the next corner, but Hermione did not dare take her eyes away from her would-be attacker, defiant to the last with her mouth gaping open for only a few seconds before taking the initiative on the matter. This situation would cost them both the Head title unless there was a reasonable explanation for why she had a wand pointed at her in the middle of a corridor when they were patrolling.

“Put your wand down!” Hermione hissed back at the Slytherin meaningfully, glancing just behind him to where she could finally see the shadow of the professor about to turn the corner, gesturing with her hand in a downwards motion.

Finally, the short, rotund form of the Herbology professor came into view clearly and Hermione acted fast and certainly without thinking. Had Harry or Ron been with them, they would not have thought twice about turning the Slytherin in for rule-breaking but she was not them. Proud of being practically minded, the Gryffindor decided to do damage limitation, unable to shake the feeling that this was the most unnerved she had ever seen Draco Malfoy and at this particular moment, was more terrifying than the prospect of the Order having a moral rethink.

“Miss Granger? Mr Malfoy? Explain yourselves! This is no way for the Head students to be behaving!” Professor Sprout demanded, piercing through Hermione's mind deliberation momentarily.

And the reason Hermione was terrified was that she had absolutely no way of knowing what Draco Malfoy was going to do next, for when someone was so emotionally distressed, logic and reason ceased to apply. Books and cleverness were not going to save her if the Slytherin chose to attack her regardless of the professor's presence.

A few thoughts passed through Draco Malfoy's head in very quick succession.

First, Granger was a bloody little backstabbing liar, pretending to want to make peace with him, while she had probably known all along that the Order was going to kidnap his mother.

Second, if he didn't waste a single second, he could hex Granger before Professor Sprout could disarm him, which might not solve his current problem, but would certainly make him feel better.

And last but not least, if he did cast a malicious spell on the putrid Gryfindor before him, he would at the least be stripped of his title, and possibly expelled from school.

Choices, choices.

"Orchidium!" growled Draco, wand pointed straight at Hermione, and a bouquet of flowers erupted from the end of his wand. He caught them deftly in one hand and handed the bouquet to Hermione. His eyes then traveled down to Professor Sprout and he shrugged. "Just thought she deserved some flowers. Thought this might send the right message about inter-house relations," he said calmly. "It's part of a new program Hermione and I are thinking of implementing. So far we're calling it 'Flowers for Foes'. I know, Professor Sprout, it's a terrible name, but we're still planning."

"Actually, Hermione," said Draco, and though his voice was cheerful, his gray eyes were full of steel. "We should get back to the common room. I really need your help with one of my projects."

Somewhere in the background of the blood thudding through Hermione's ears, she could faintly hear Professor Sprout's delighted outburst at Draco's idea, that she could only presume he had pulled out of his arse at the situation's turn. 'Flowers for Foes'? It sounded awkward, clumsy and altogether wrong for an initiative and she lost her focus on the situation for a few moments to ponder whether their Herbology professor had been so blind-sided by the use of flowers to put the point across.

Flowers which Hermione currently held tightly between her fingers. It was nothing extravagant; a bouquet of pansies, but merely holding something like that given from Draco, no matter the intention, made her extremely uncomfortable. Though it seemed unnecessary, the older woman looked to Hermione for clarification, to which the Head Girl could only managed a smile that she hoped looked vaguely embarrassed and a nod.

“Oh... I see!” came the professor's breathless reply, smiling in obvious relief. “Well, it could use a little work, but the medium and idea is there, but please don't point your wand at Miss Granger in the hall again Mr Malfoy, or points will have to be docked. The same goes for you Miss Granger, if the situation would ever arise. You two must set the highest example.”

There was still quite a lot of corridors to patrol before their rounds were over, but it was painfully obvious that doing that was simply out of the question now, Hermione turning her hazel eyes onto Draco Malfoy levelly and wondered just quite how difficult it was going to be to not get hexed to high heavens by the Head Boy once they were in the comfort of their own quarters. There was only a brief moment where Hermione toyed with telling Professor Sprout the truth about what was going on, for she was not related to the Order or the Death Eaters in any way, though like most she advocated Harry's cause.

Facts were what Hermione needed at the end of the day and even if Draco was going to attempt to hex her into senselessness, she was confident that she could either duel with him adequately or at least manage to escape and find help. Grey eyes that stared at her were hard and unforgiving, but she reminded herself sternly that this boy had just been informed that his mother had been kidnapped and by her allies, no less! That had to be nonsense, though, she told herself with certainty. Nothing could be gained from kidnapping the wife of Lucius Malfoy, for it was clear that the Malfoy family had chosen a side a long time ago. Something, regardless of Hermione's desires on the matter, had shifted and now there was this giant mystery lingering over the disappearance of Narcissa Malfoy.

And of course, like always, Hermione welcomed it, as long as she could talk with the Head Boy reasonably. They had the same goal in mind and she just needed to put that across, regardless of allegiances.

“I... yes, of course Draco. I think I know which one you mean.” she supplied briskly, hands fiddling absently with the flowers, unnerved by what had already transpired and the anxious awaiting of what might come. “Professor, I'm really sorry to have made you worry, but we must be on our way now. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

After glancing meaningfully across at her counterpart and giving another polite farewell to their professor, Hermione turned and walked away from this corridor, getting a sneaking suspicion that she would never forget what happened here. Her lips were pressed together the entire trip back to the Head common room, except to turn and say to Draco once they were out of earshot of anyone...

“Don't. Just don't. Forget rounds and come on.”

The atmosphere between them had shot from being tense to positively electric post-detention/expulsion scare and the walking pace had increased at least from Hermione's side at least, desperate to get back to the privacy of their quarters and try and figure out what was going on before Draco blew a fuse, which he did look extremely ready to do at any moment. She could only hope that he might realise that she backed up his story with the professor. Gratitude might be too much to hope for but even just a realisation that she was not cowering from facing him, just changing to an appropriate field.

Password spoken softly and portrait open, the girl slipped inside and turned to face the Slytherin behind her almost immediately, arms crossed and looking quite defiant, wand in her own hand now. “Now, if you want to try and hex me that's perfectly fine Draco, but that won't help this situation at all.”

Her hands spread out to the sides, wand clasped loosely, as if she hoped that Draco would actually listen, waiting for him to make a move before she would speak again, ready to defend herself at a moment's notice. After all, this was not some ordinary distraught student; this was Draco Malfoy, a talented, calculating and potentially arrogant wizard whose mother, who he apparently adored, had been kidnapped.

Treading carefully was not always her strong point, but Hermione hoped she could do it well enough to avoid being cursed into oblivion and back again for the sake of Draco's venting before they could examine the facts. He was no idiot, and did not possess a hot-headed temper like Ron. In fact, he was more like Harry and hoped that, despite their being enemies, logical process and need to understand would override anything else.

Black robes whipped around his legs as he strode quickly through the hall. His determined, long-legged strides meant the much smaller young woman beside him had to hurry as much as she could, but he didn't spare her so much as a backward glance to see if she was keeping up with him. His mouth was pressed into such a tight line that his lips turned almost white, blending in with the rest of his whitened face. He had always been pale, but having learned that Narcissa was in possible danger, the blood had drained from his face and bleached him of any color.

He entered the common room behind Hermione, who was trying to be reasonable with him. Draco didn't want to be reasonable. He wanted to kick something really hard, and he wanted to save his mother before the enemy did anything to her. And if Hermione thought hexing her would do him no good, well, she was dead wrong.

“Expelliarmus!”

The wand held loosely at Hermione's side flew from her hand and thudded against a book-case lined wall. In no more than a heartbeat, Draco had pinned the defenseless Gryffindor against the wall, the lines of his face spelling an expression of rage. One of his hands held both of her small wrists above her head, his fingers digging into her skin. He loomed over her, close enough he could smell the scent of her shampoo on her hair, could see a faint smudge of ink on her cheek left from the side of her thumb brushing her face. His other hand held his wand, which was pointed straight at her, and it was steady. There was no quiver in his stance, no shake in his hands. No professors to stop him now, he thought.

“First, don't you dare call me Draco, filthy mudblood. What ever made you think we were on a first name basis? Do you think because we share the same dormitory that we're friends? Because we're not, and we never will be. Even if you weren't a mudblood, you're still one of Potter's best friends, and on top of it, now your side has kidnapped my mother to do god knows what to her!”

The tip of his wand pressed into her stomach and he scowled. “Now remind me why it would do me no good to hex you? Because I can think of a certain unforgivable curse I could put on you that might give me all the answers I want.”

There was a ringing in Hermione's ears that simply would not be banished and it was disrupting her clarity of mind in a way that would most certainly hamper her ability to calm anyone down right now, let alone Draco bloody Malfoy! Her eyes slid closed for a few moments, breathing deeply and considering fighting against his grip before conceding that no matter what she tried, he could cast before anything close to escape happened.

Mudblood. Once, an utterance of that word would have appalled Hermione, holding her head up remarkably high despite the compromising position and his repeated insults. Yes, she was born of a non-magical world and despite whatever any racist purebloods thought of it, Hermione was proud of her heritage. If Draco wanted to insult her, he'd have to do a much better job than that.

The vinewood and dragon heartstring core wand was far out of her reach, not that Hermione even awarded it a passing glance, staring straight back at the Slytherin in the wake of his threats and accusations, releasing the breath she had taken minutes earlier. Last year she had been in a much worse situation than this, but that did not stop the creeping nervousness and fear that came from realising that you were helpless at the hands of your worst enemy.

Friends? Them? Hermione could not think of anything more abhorrent, freezing in place at the mere mention of the Imperius curse. The answer was simple and honest, but would not satisfy his curiosity for the truth of the matter.; she did not know anything about what the house elf had told them both in the corridor.

His wand was pointed at her unwaveringly, but Hermione refused to flinch away from him, even if he did decide to use an unforgiveable upon her, helpless as she was. All he would find out is that she really did know nothing about his mother's disappearance.

"Fine Malfoy," she hissed out, deciding that now probably was not the best of times to be pointing out that she was simply trying to be civil by using his given name over his family one, "I wish I did know something and if the Order have kidnapped your mother, I intend to find out why because it does not make sense!"

Everything had to fit logically, and if, after research, it turned out that the Order had taken Narcissa Malfoy, it would work against everything Hermione had ever believed about those she called allies.

"You're lucky it doesn't serve me to kill you right now," hissed Draco, giving Hermione one final, firm shove into the wall before releasing her. He didn't immediately back away, but instead stood over her, seething down from his far greater height. "If I find out you are in any way involved in what happened between my mother and that damned Order, I swear you will live to regret it."

Slowly he turned, fighting every urge he had to hit something. Most people didn't realize exactly how restrained he was. He managed to exude a cold, calm exterior, even when he was boiling on the inside. It gave him no satisfaction that Granger had seen a crack in that facade. Since childhood he had been groomed to control his emotions, to keep his feelings at bay, to never let others get to close. Hermione fucking Granger of all people had caused him to momentarily forget himself and lose control. It wouldn't happen again, he swore to himself as he marched up the stairs to his dorm. He paused at the door, hand poised over the handle, then pointed his wand toward Granger's, which was still lying on the ground.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The wand lifted into the air, then floated toward Hermione, hovering benignly in the air in front of her. "You may need that," said Draco in a monotone. "Since you intend to find out why a house elf appeared to me tonight saying your friends kidnapped my mother."

He gave her one last cold, calculating look, then went into his room, locking the door behind him. Draco slid against the door till he was sitting on the floor with his knees bent toward his chest. Why mother? he asked himself. Why the one person in the world I actually care about? The person least able to take care of herself? What do they want with her?

Lucius would know, he thought, dragging himself up from the carpet. He went to the window, where an owl was waiting patiently in the window sill. Father will know what has happened, he thought, scribbling a note. "Father," it read. "Mother has been kidnapped by the Order of the Phoenix. We must get her back. I await your command."

He attached the short letter to the owls leg and it left, it's feathers gleaming in the pale moonlight. He should have a response the following morning, he thought, and sat down at his desk table. He knew it would be a sleepless night, and he set to occupying his mind with the next month worth's of homework.

Narcissa Malfoy Disappears Without A Trace?

It was splayed all over the Daily Prophet, as if it was some ground-breaking news, and had immediately became the topic of breakfast for all, though the Slytherin table was conspicuously quiet. Even bemoaning Potions first thing with the Slytherins came secondary to the news that Draco Malfoy's mother had gone missing and there were all sorts of rumours going around already, the worst one being that Lucius Malfoy had been forced to murder his wife in a show of loyalty to the Dark Lord.

Despite the fact that everywhere around her was a reiteration of what the house elf had told her yesterday, Hermione Granger was more puzzled by Draco's reaction post-assault than anything else. Logic could answer for why his mother had supposedly been kidnapped (she had spent the better part of three hours going through the options): a misunderstanding, a bare-faced lie by the enemy and most distastefully, that it was simply the truth.

That seemed to be a point that her thought processes centred around; making sense. Last night certainly was not helping, for just at the precise moment that she had expected Draco Malfoy to force her to give whatever answers he thought she must possess, he had caved and left her with little more than some colourful bruising and threats that Hermione was not foolish enough to treat as empty. Thankfully, she was quite positive that her involvement with Narcissa Malfoy's kidnapping was non-existent... but that only meant that if the Order were held responsible, his vengeance would be thrust into their direction.

If only the house elf had chosen to interrupt Draco Malfoy's sleep, intimate time with Pansy Parkinson; frankly anything except their bloody patrol! Whilst it had given her an outlet to research into a situation that she had been quite oblivious to, it had also alerted Hermione to a side of the Head Boy that she had held no particular desire to ever witness. Or see again for that matter.

“Hey, Hermione?” The questioning came just after Ron had swallowed another forkful of sausage, peering across sleepily at the girl in question, who switched from thoughtfulness to attentive almost immediately.

“Yes Ron?”

His fork tilted so that it pressed against the headline for the Daily Prophet, points making tiny indents in the paper, leaning forwards so that his face was scarce inches from hers and Harry's, who had slipped into the secretive circle whilst her counter-question had been posed.

“Harry? What's going on?” The girl gave her a side-long look, half-expecting one of them to blurt out that Narcissa Malfoy was holed up in the Order headquarters and leave her flabbergasted until she could corner one of them later to find out why no one told her?

“He's not here, is he?” The whispered, cryptic words made Hermione frown, narrowing her eyes as she sighed, tired. Unsurprisingly, she had not slept well last night after her 'encounter' with Draco (damn whatever he said, she was going to be civil!) mind alert and although she was loathe to admit it, a little frightened that he would be coming back to interrogate her again. It was a side to the Head Boy that Hermione feared she would see again before the year, or indeed, month was through.

“Who?” Hermione snapped, close to the end of her tether, which earned her a cautionary glance from two uneasy teenage boys. That did not help her mood. “Well, who?”

“Malfoy, Hermione. He's not here.”

'Of course he isn't! His mother just disappeared and we, the good side, apparently did it! Us, who are supposed to be the people that rescue the victims, not make them. Us who do not stoop to such low means to achieve our goals!'

None of that rant escaped Hermione's lips of course and, she instead settled for a piercing glare, coupled by a successfully self-deprecating sigh for it was a strange occurrence, even without the knowledge that she had secreted away in her mind. It had been a popular discussion on the train ride towards Hogwarts and Hermione was more than sick of their obsession with the Head Boy being some sort of spy for Lord Voldemort at their beloved school and that, along with the rest of the Slytherins, Draco Malfoy needed to be kept an eye on.

“Both of you, stop it with this nonsense!” Hermione hissed, leaning in further so to limit what might be overheard, certain that she had both of their attentions. “You should be focusing on researching the Horcruxes, not whether the Head Boy is secretly involved in his own mother's kidnapping.”

The mention of the subject of the moment - the Horcruxes – seemed to sober at least Harry but Hermione was not going to hang around to see if Ron followed suit, already gathering up her books from the long table so that she could walk away. It was only a hand on her arm that stayed her retreat and from the quickness of the movement, it could have only have been...

“Just watch him? Better to be safe than sorry.”

Hermione tensed at Harry's plea, letting her brown eyes fall closed as she considered what he was asking, fleetingly considering it a good idea to tell him – one of her closest friends – what had happened last night. At least he wouldn't go off and try and assault Draco Malfoy in retaliation. Well, not immediately. He, unlike Ron, would share her concerns about the legitimacy of the Order but it was all Harry had left. They all held determined lines of what was right and wrong when it came to this war, and to tell him that those he trusted were responsible for something so utterly atrocious...

“No Harry. If Headmaster Dumbledore trusts him, why can't you?”

That would have been utter nonsense up until last night, but Hermione Granger firmly believed that the only side that Draco Malfoy was on was his mother's. He could have used the Imperius curse and made her do all sorts, like break into 12 Grimmaulds Place to check for himself; he did not have to take her word but he had returned her wand and let her be.

Hermione had vowed to find out the truth beneath the startling news that they had received on patrol last night for what was turning out to be a frighteningly long list of reasons. The fewer people that knew, especially if it turned out that the house elf was right, the better she thought as her brisk footsteps carried her away from her two dumbfounded friends. No doubt they were torn between disbelief and begrudging realisation that Hermione, as always, had a good point.

Her first class slot was free for the day and so, Hermione took the opportunity to peruse the Daily Prophet in the safety of one of the darkest corners of the library, reading the article that had been published so soon after the impromptu declaration. The fact that the lady of Malfoy Manor had gone missing was not under dispute it seemed; had Lucius Malfoy made it public purposely, to try and curry support for his family, despite their obvious allegiance to Lord Voldemort?

The near-death of Headmaster Dumbledore the year previous had been a critical blow to the Order's activity, for the loss of Severus Snape had been a devastating blow that many had expected but hoped never to come to pass. Professor McGonagall ran the school at the moment in the wizard's stead. What Draco and Hermione had faced at the beginning of the year had been a well-rehearsed act of their beloved Headmaster on the part of Professor McGonagall.

If he did not pull out of his coma soon, no one knew what to do. The old man, mature in both years and wisdom, had always been the leader and now, without knowing whether that strong presence could still be reclaimed, the Order had been left in limbo. In light of that, it because disturbingly clear that some might be foolish enough to try and unbalance their opposition through less than savoury methods. Hermione flinched, casting away that doubt as much as she could, but the seed was already there, sown by the house elf and Draco's obvious distress the previous night.

The girl knew genuine distress, rage and confusion when she saw it; had seen it blind better men and women than Draco Malfoy to sound judgement. For now, like he believed in her ability to figure out the truth, so Hermione would believe in his obliviousness to the truth of the matter, what ever it may be. Setting the paper down with a huff, Hermione picked up a NEWT level Transfiguration textbook, eager to distract her mind from the torment that doubt could wreck upon even the most organised and sure of thinkers.

And yet, despite her best efforts, Hermione knew she would spend the rest of her spare time that day trying to figure out a way to discern whether Narcissa Malfoy was in the Order's grasp, for her own peace of mind, more than to assist Draco Malfoy. He likely had his own ways in addition to the flimsy promises of a Mudblood and if she did come to him with answers, it would be a long stretch to expect him to believe her if she did not have solid proof.

Once, she might have asked Professor Snape for assistance in such a delicate matter, given his duality of loyalty but since the end of the last year, he had been notably absent from Order affairs and exclusively glimpsed those who followed Lord Voldemort. A confirmation of loyalty or simply information gathering? Hermione did not know.

There were a great many things she was not privy to these days when it came to the Order it seemed and that cheered her not at all.