A/N: I know it's been a very long time since I've updated. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed anyway, and inspired me to continue.

That settled it: from now on he would never make fun of girls if they were irritable by suggesting they had PMS, now that he knew what it was like.

A day later Draco Malfoy was reclining on a grassy hill. Professor Snape had to teach Potions outside since his classroom still had yet to be deemed fit for use—despite Draco's and Weasley's hours of cleaning. Snape had managed to come up with six cauldrons for the class as theirs had been destroyed in the explosion. It was lucky for Weasley, Draco thought viciously, that they hadn't made them pay for the damage, or else Weasley's parents might have had to take out a fourth mortgage on their house.

Because there were only six cauldrons to be had, the class had to partner in groups of three or four. This time, however, Snape chose the partners. As Ron inched towards Draco (obviously his last experience hadn't deterred him from seeking him out as a partner), Snape nearly bit his head off as he ordered him to be with Patil and Brown.

"But, Professor," Weasley protested innocently, "it's not like we could do much damage to anything again if we're outside."

Draco could see Hermione Granger chuckle at this.

"Weasley, just do as you're told and shut up. Or it'll be ten points from Gryffindor."

Snape had Draco partner with Granger and Longbottom, whom were even worse matches for him than Weasley: at least he was not Switched with Weasley and at least Weasley wasn't a know-it-all mudblood. And at least he hadn't—yet, Draco thought—been hit on by Weasley as he had by Longbottom. What a bloody mess.

He was trying to catch her eye, but every time he looked at her from across the cauldron she looked away. Then she was trying to look at him, but wouldn't meet his eyes and he would look away. And then—

"You can stop making eyes at each other from over the cauldron," Neville growled beside them.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said quickly.

"You need a lobotomy, Longbottom. Or whatever those Muggles do to their kind."

Hermione elbowed him. Oh. He'd said "Longbottom" again. It was just too hard to call the bloke Neville.

Neville Longbottom was all agog. "'Muggles'? 'Their kind'? What's up with you, Hermione?"

"Nothing. I'm just in a bad mood, oh, I don't why, maybe I just had the shock of my life yesterday morning."

Hermione gave him a warning look.

Neville looked at him. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, sure, I'm fine." Under his breath he muttered, "Girls and their body parts. Disgusting."

"What?"

"I said I'm okay, it was nothing."

The lesson continued without incident. They brewed their potion with minimal conversation and departed afterwards. They were kept in the same groups for the next few days, which was awkward for each of them.

A week later as Hermione walked back to the castle from the Potions lesson outside, she couldn't help but notice that Neville was glaring at her back. In fact, Neville was trying to provoke her all week, Hermione noticed. Or was he?

She was walking down a corridor one night when she came across Ernie MacMillan.

"Hello, MacMillan," she said neutrally.

"Malfoy, I have something to speak to you about."

She stopped. "All right. Go on."

"It's about Hermione Granger."

Her heart raced.

"Yes? What about her?"

"Ah, yes, well…Malfoy, I know we are very different people, and that we come from different Houses that don't particularly get on with each other—"

Get on with it, Hermione wanted to say, but bit her tongue.

"—but we are still very much all connected, especially where mutual acquaintances are concerned—"

"So what are you saying?" Hermione prompted him, to speed the process. Sometimes Ernie's pomposity and verbosity got in the way of things.

"I'm asking you to clarify your intentions where the Head Girl is concerned."

"Pardon?"

"I want to know your intentions."

"My intentions?" Hermione yelped.

"Yes, whether your intentions are honorable."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not a fool, Malfoy. I have it from a reputable source—"

"What source?"

"—that you are pursuing Hermione Granger, and Hermione is interested in you, and she's an intelligent girl but frankly I'm not sure she understands your motives and I just want to know them. I hope you understand that if you lead her on and trick her you'll have me and—and others to answer to."

"Really, Ernie, this is too much," Hermione said, flabbergasted. "For one thing…I am not pursuing Hermione Granger…and second, Hermione Granger does not like me! She thinks I'm vain and sneaky and, and…a lot of other things I can't articulate right now." She cleared her throat and looked quickly away before looking back at Earnie. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have Potions homework to finish." She brushed past the Head Boy without waiting for the possibility that he might open his mouth with a protest. Ridiculous, that he would think something like that…obviously Neville said something..but really absurd…

Hermione was too deep in thought to notice the visitor stretched out on her bed—no, Malfoy's bed—when she arrived to the Slytherin rooms.

"Hello, Draco." Pansy shot her a sultry look from her position on Malfoy's bed. Her robes were undone just enough to give Hermione a glimpse of a low-cut green sweater and lacy black bra that was clearly intended for her to see.

"Oh. Er, hi." Hermione really didn't understand what was expected of her as far as interacting with Draco's girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Was she to dismiss Pansy? Be civil? Well, Draco had said he didn't want Pansy coming back. Why was she stretched out on the bed now, when Hermione had work to do? She was Head Girl, after all! She had work to do! S.P.E.W. meetings to plan!

She decided to be polite yet cool.

"Look, I've work to do…see you around, yeah?

She turned her back and began fumbling in Malfoy's schoolbag. After pretending to fumble around for her Potions book that was far longer than necessary, she noticed Pansy was still on the bed.

"Pansy? Did you hear me?" she snapped.

Pansy sighed, extending her right leg nearly off the mattress so her body was neatly splayed. "Draco, darling, I was hoping we could…talk."

Hermione scowled. "I'm busy. Have to get top marks, or Father will flog me." OR whatever Mr. Malfoys did to make their sons terrified of them. She felt a bit sorry for Malfoy, actually.

Pansy drew herself upright, eyes blazing. "Draco, I came here—despite a very busy schedule and multiple invitations from a number of boys to go out today—just so I could see you. What's happened to you? Why don't you want me to spend the night anymore?"

"I'm too busy for a girlfriend, Pansy, you should see someone else."

"But I only want you, Draco. And after that night, not too long ago, I certainly felt that it was you who wanted me more, the way you kept telling me—"

Suddenly Hermione's annoyance turned to inexplicable fury. "No, Pansy! I don't want anything from you! Please, just leave me alone!"

Immediately she was by Hermione's side. "Draco," she said, concerned, "Are you crying?"

Humiliated, Hermione realized that her eyes were, in fact, stinging, a little. It was just that she was just so frustrated all the time nowadays.

At Pansy's soft touch on her shoulder—Draco's shoulder—Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and drew back immediately. "I want you to leave," she all but hissed, quietly. "I have issues to work out." That was her way of explanation. "And if you try to come back, I'll inform on you. I mean it. I don't love you, I was only using you." She paused. "For sex." Pansy, Hermione was pleased to note, had some self-pride and did not stick around after that. After suffering just one slap to the jaw, Hermione was free to go about her business. However, she couldn't seem to concentrate after that. She kept thinking of Pansy lying on Draco's bed, wanting him, as she'd probably done many times before, and her words about Draco wanting her as well.

Get a grip, Hermione scolded herself. You don't need to be thinking about that. Disgusting. As she lay on her bed and opened her textbook, she was acutely aware of how comfortable Malfoy's pillow was. And how it smelled, just barely, of….something…she couldn't put her finger on it. Was it grass? No, but something else that smelled sensually earthy and slighty..Malfoy-ish. She sniffed more deeply.

"Well, well, Granger, I know you've never had a boyfriend, but I would expect you to come up with something more creative than a pillow to make out with."

She jumped out of her skin. As her mind was rapidaly processing Malfoy's words—was that a backhanded compliment?—she was mortified, rapidly blushing, and trying to explain herself.

"I j-just—you didn't—I was merely trying to—"

"Yes?"

"I was reviewing the lesson from today, and—"

"Mmhmm, and then I caught you sniffing my pillow, you prevent. Pillow-sniffer."

Hermione sat up straight. "I beg your pardon." They were lucky no one was in the room to hear them. "Listen, what are you doing here? Anyone could catch you!" Her eyes widened and the book was shut with a snap. "Oh Merlin!"

"What?

"You should be in the study room on the sixth floor! Now!"

"Hot date with your homework?" He rolled his eyes.

"Now, look, you have an S.P.E.W. Meeting—"

"Granger, I refuse to endorse your liberal bleedingheart crap."

She shot him a withering look. "I pity you sometimes, Malfoy, for having been raised a bigoted butthead."

"Butthead?"

Hermione held up a hand to silence him. "I'm not going to argue elves' rights with you today. You have to go and represent me today, because I'm the president. And I think people are already suspecting, you know, about us."

"In what way?"

"Your behavior at Potions, with Neville, and Ernie MacMillan stopped me and said ridiculous things to me today about you and me—"

"Like what?"

"Like…like, well…I think he might have noticed our behavior is off." She looked away and gave a slight chuckled. "Actually, he thinks you might be interested in me—"

"Oh, that's rich."

"Well of course it's ridiculous, because of our mutual dislike—"

"Me? Draco Malfoy? Be interested in a mudblood, and be attracted to Hermione Granger of all people?"

Hermione jumped off the bed. "As if I would ever be interested in you!"

"You probably started that rumor, you'd love for someone like me to take an interest in you." He was just baiting her now.

But he was surprised when she didn't respond and add fuel to the fire. She sighed and fiddled with his pillow, carefully embroidered with his initials. "Okay. So. Ginny might show up at the meeting or she might be out with Blaise, so don't count on her presence. Ron will be there, of course, because he is the treasurer"

Draco snickered.

"What?"

"Funny that Weasley gets to be Treasurer. Bet he likes that."

"What are you talking about? I don't—oh, I get it. Would you kindly stop making jokes about Ron's financial situation!"

Then Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god."

"What?"

"You're jealous of Ron!"

Draco colored. "Weasel? That poor, stupid arse?"

"Yes, you're jealous of him! Why else would you make fun of him and harp on his lack of fortune all the time?"

"What could I possibly envy? His brain—or lack thereof—his stupid freckles, his miserable little house—"

"It's not that little," Hermione objected.

"It's like the Little Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. Not enough space for a family with too many runts."

"How do you know that muggle storybook?"

"Don't flatter your muggle heritage, Granger, it's a wizard's story. How do you think that many children could live in a big boot?"

"It wasn't a real story, Malfoy."

"Of course it was, you idiot. I thought every wizard or witch with half a brain knew that the Little Old Woman, was, in fact, Minerva McGonagall."

"What?" Hermione cried. Draco just smirked. "Malfoy, you're pulling my leg!"

"You still believed me."

"I did not."

"Yes, you did."

"That still doesn't explain how you know a muggle children's book."

I told you, it's not muggle. Tone down your hubris for your fellow mugglekind, Granger." Draco stopped in his train of thought. "What were we talking about before this?"

It took Hermione a minute to remember. "Ron."

"Oh, right. Weasley. And why I'm not jealous of him. Honestly, what could I really be jealous about?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Penis envy?"

"What?"

"Psychology term."

"Yes, I know, but having no real knowledge of Weasley's jollies, probably unlike yourself, how could I possibly envy them?"

"I'll ignore that bit about me."

"You mean it's true?" He said this with more feeling that he meant to. Well, it was just that the thought of her and Weasley was just...appalling.

"I'm neither going to confirm nor deny." (Actually she hadn't, but she wasn't about to tell Malfoy that nothing of the sort had happened.)

"That means you did it!" He practically accused her.

"It's not any of your business, I can't understand why you're always harping on Ron and me...really it's annoying and immature." She absentmindedly stroked her thigh, Malfoy's thigh that was, noticing how muscular it was, how firm. She was still so frustrated, and uncomfortable, and starting to feel a bit warm.

Suddenly there was a voice at the door.