There were some things Hermione Granger loved.

Books.

Knowledge.

Harry and Ron, her two best friends in the entire world.

The smell of the musty, old books at the library at Hogwarts.

But most of all, she loved her position of power as a prefect at Hogwarts. Now, don't get her wrong, she never abused it, which was more than she could say for some blonde-headed Slytherins. Hermione just loved that fact that she could change things for the better at Hogwarts.

This was why she was so anxiously anticipating the letter from Hogwarts about the upcoming school year. The choice for which two prefects were going to be Head Girl and Boy were going to be disclosed in that letter, and Hermione knew-she just knew-that she was going to be chosen for Head Girl.

Ron had been hoping all summer that he would be chosen for Head Boy, but Hermione secretly thought that Ron Weasley being Head Boy was kind of a long shot. Harry had informed her about what Dumbledore had said to him, about him not wanting to gift Harry with the role of prefect because he didn't want to put anymore pressure on the young man's shoulders. So Dumbledore chose Ron instead, a choice that Hermione thought could have been rethought a little bit better.

She loved Ron, truly she did. But he was ruled by his emotions and his stomach, and didn't use his seat of power in the best way possible to benefit Hogwarts and its students. He wasn't as bad as, say, Malfoy, but he wasn't averse to taking his anger out on some first years on occasion.

Malfoy.

A little, nagging voice in Hermione's head-a voice that she tried fervently to gag and shut up-constantly worried that Malfoy would be chosen as Head Boy. The only other viable option would be Ernie Macmillan, but with N.E.W.T.S. coming up this year, she knew that he would want every available moment to study and that there was a great possibility that he would turn the honor down. Ernie was smart, and his slightly pompous ego would take a huge stroke knowing that he had been chosen for the role of Head Boy. But that very same ego would also take a huge hit if he allowed the prospect of power to distract him from his studies and cause him to fail.

So if Ernie was chosen and he turned it down, there was a great chance that Malfoy would be Head Boy.

Hermione shuddered. It was common knowledge that the Head Boy and Girl shared a dorm, because they needed a space to work with all the responsibilities bestowed upon them without the interference of the other students. The concept of sharing a dorm with Malfoy for a whole year was a little bit daunting.

She wasn't scared of Malfoy, not in the slightest. Hermione had proven that all the way back in third year when she had slapped the annoying little ferret across the face. She giggled at the memory of Malfoy's shocked expression and the vivid pink imprint of her hand on the side of his face.

No, Hermione wasn't scared of Malfoy. But his constant insults and referring to her as a mudblood got tiring. He always managed to say just the right thing to get under her skin. A whole year of that, and she just might lose her sanity. Really, couldn't the boy come up with better insults? The phrase 'filthy little mudblood' only had so many uses before the sting left the insult.

The funniest part of the fact that Malfoy calling her a filthy mudblood was that she was neither eternally filthy or had mud running throught her veins, so it really wasn't hard to laugh in his face whenever the phrase dropped from his lips. However, when he called her ugly or undesirable...

Hermione knew she wasn't supermodel gorgeous, but she also knew she wasn't hideous or even ugly, especially after she got Madam Pomfrey to alter her teeth back in their fourth year. Her eyes were the color of melted chocolate, an inherited trait from her mother that she was quite proud of. The mouth that spewed off so many correct answers was small but defined, her lips not too thin or too pouty. However, all of Hermione's prettiest features got slightly overwhelmed by the riotous mass that was her hair.

She remembered with a shudder how bushy it had been during their first year, before Hermione had discovered Muggle hair products. Her mother hadn't been exaggerating when she said that Hermione's hair was like a curly brown tumbleweed on her scalp. Over the summer, Hermione had deviated from the usual tradition of spending her time at the Burrow and had instead invited Ginny to her house, wanting some one-on-one girl time. During a leisurely stroll through the mall close to Hermione's house, the pair had stumbled across a store that boasted of having products that would tame even the most difficult of hair. Hermione, intrigued, had allowed herself to be tampered with by the adorably gay male hairdresser. The store advertisements hadn't lied; in under a half hour, Hermione's unruly curls were calmed to silky ringlets that hung halfway down her back. Unbelievably grateful, both Hermione and Ginny had hugged the hairdresser. He showed Hermione which products to buy and how to use them, and ever since Hermione had been proud to say that she was actually somewhat pretty.

"Hermione, there's an owl at the kitchen window!" Hermione heard her mother call.

With a speed that Hermione was sure wasn't quite humanly possible, she darted down the stairs and landed clumsily on the kitchen floor. Her parents laughed at her eagerness while she scowled at her own lack of balance and let the owl in that was tapping on her kitchen window.

List of school books...class schedule...reminder of everything that is banned...aha! Hermione was right. The gleaming golden Head Girl badge almost sparkled against the creamy white of the parchment.

Dear Ms. Granger,

I am pleased to inform you of the decision regarding your Head Girl status for this school year. After a long period of revision, you were selected for the position...Hermione's eyes skimmed the letter, searching for the most important part...The Head Boy for the impending school year will be Draco Malfoy. Please meet with each other in the Head compartment on the Hogwarts train preceeding your arrival to the school to get further acquainted with each other.

Well, there it was, just like she had predicted. Malfoy was Head Boy. The thoughts that were beginning to swirl around in her braid regarding what ghastly experiences she was sure to have this year were shelved away, to be dealt with at a later date, preferably never.

"Mum, I was right! I'm Head Girl!"

000

The remainder of Hermione's summer was spent avidly preparing for what was sure to be a stressful seventh year at Hogwarts. Ron, Harry and Ginny had all wholeheartedly congratulated Hermione on her newfound Head Girl status, and Hermione was glad to see that Ron seemed rather content to simply remain a prefect.

Hermione's mother, much to Hermione's chagrin, forced her to go on a pre-school year shopping trip. Hermione had tried to worm her way out of it, however unsuccessfully that had been.

"But Mum, we wear uniforms. I don't need dresses and other fancy clothes!"

"Hermione, I know you don't have to wear that uniform during weekends and whenever you guys go out to that Hog Meet place."

"It's Hogsmeade, mum. And fine. Buy me whatever you want, but I can't guarantee that I'll wear it. And I want a trip to the bookstore, too! If you're going to drag me through the mall, I at least want a reward."

Hermione's mother burst into laughter at her daughter's tortured expression. "Deal. You know, seeing as you found a sort of revelation this summer with your hair, I thought you might want to impress the people at that school of yours. Goodness knows you talk about those boys of yours a lot. Ron and Harry, right? You're seventeen, Hermione, it's perfectly natural for you to start looking at them beyond a mother hen/sister point of view..."

"Mum! That will never in a thousand years happen! Harry is into Ron's sister, and I love them both like brothers. Trust me, there is absolutely no romantic feelings there. We're best friends; nothing more, nothing less."

Hermione's mother had to concede defeat there. It was obvious that her only child would not be swayed on the matter of romantic affiliations. Oh well. Maybe this year...

Hermione was glad when her mother dropped the subject and resumed going through the many colored shirts on the rack in front of her. Hermione had already been forced to have this conversation with her father, grandmother, and her favorite aunt. Her father had been relieved when she had fervently stated that there was little to no chance of her becoming attached to anyone in that sense any time soon. Hermione's grandmother, true to form, had inquired as to when she could be expecting grandchildren, a question that had Hermione simultaneously choking back hysterical laughter and wanting to go fall in a hole and die.

The conversation with her aunt had been the most interesting. Her parents had given her the sex talk when she was young, after she had come across the term in a book at the library. They went into further detail when she was about thirteen. But it was her aunt that told her everything she knew, much to Hermione's embarrassment. Most of the time Hermione was positive that her favorite aunt said all these graphic things just to make her squirm.

August 31st was spent gloriously lounging by her family's pool doing absolutely nothing, a rarity for Hermione. She had exactly twenty-four hours left before she had to return to Hogwarts, and she wanted one last day of relaxation before being thrust into the most hectic year she'd ever had.

Plus, her tan was fading.

000

"Merlin...Hermione? Is that you?"

Hermione smiled at the look of sheer shock on her two best friends' faces. She hadn't bothered yet to change into her Hogwarts robes, so Hermione was still wearing one of the dresses her mother had purchased for her on their shopping extravaganza a few days previously. This particular dress was her favorite, a light, swingy white eyelet lace halter dress that showed off the newly renewed tan on her shoulders to perfection.

"Yes, it's me. You two don't recognize your own best friend?" Hermione joked.

The shock on Harry's face passed quickly, replaced by a smile. He hugged her, a tight affair that had Hermione gasping for breath. Maybe spending the summer away from the Burrow was a bad idea, because Hermione was pretty sure that there would be light bruises on her ribs from where Harry's arms were crushing her abdomen.

Harry released her and once again noted that she did indeed look wonderful, even going so far as to tug on her tamed ringlets.

"I see you aren't exactly the reigning bushy hair queen, now. It looks nice, Mione." Harry laughed at Hermione's indignant expression when he called her the bushy hair queen, but he knew that Hermione knew that he meant it all in jest.

The next minute or so was spent awkwardly waiting for Ron to speak. He was just gaping at Hermione, his mouth opening and closing like a dumbfounded fish. Ginny took the liberty of joining the trio and elbowing her brother in the stomach.

"Merlin, Ron, stop staring. It's just Mione. If it's taken you this long to realize that she's an outstandingly beautiful girl, then you just don't deserve her." Ginny quipped, only half joking. Ginny knew that there was a small part of her brother (that grew larger every day) that was beginning to open his eyes and realize that Hermione wasn't going to stay a bookworm forever, oblivious to all the boys at Hogwarts. That fact held especially true now, because Hermione had finally taken the initiative over the summer and started to actively do something about her appearance. Granted, she wasn't as girly as Lavender or Parvati, and Ginny doubted that she ever would be, but hey. It was a start.

"Come on, boys, let's go find a compartment." Ginny took Harry's hand (not going unnoticed by Hermione) and led him onto the train. Hermione did the same thing, although with Ron's upper arm instead of his hand. As he was still staring at her newfound beauty, she didn't want to lead him on and make him believe that they had any romantic future together.

OOO

It took Draco Malfoy until almost 11 o'clock to board the Hogwarts Express. Stupid fangirls, he thought. I'm bloody seventeen years old, why would I possibly want a first or second year girl drooling over me?

Annoyingly enough, his mother had predicted this very scenario that morning, over breakfast. What had initially been a teary mother moment as Narcissa lamented the loss of her only sons' boyhood quickly turned into a laughing fest between his mother and father as they joked over how handsome Draco had become, and how he was bound to have the lower grades' females throw themselves at him.

Damn you, Mother. Always right.

A small portion of Draco's brain was grateful for the lateness of his arrival on the train, because it meant that most everybody had already found a compartment. His feet tried to follow tradition and direct him to the Slytherin-reserved compartments at the back of the train, but Draco knew better. In those compartments rested the clingy, painted nails of Pansy Parkinson, something that he would rather not confront. If the younger girls were this bad, he had no idea what Parkinson might do when she saw him.

So he took his feet and went to the front of the train, where he knew the Head Girl and Boy's compartment was. Foolish as he was, Draco had discarded the letter from Dumbledor as soon as he saw his badge, so he had no idea who this year's Head Girl was. As he got to the sliding doors of the compartment, his view of the girl inside was marred by the luggage he was trying to stow in the overhead storage space. After that was settled, he straightened out the black t-shirt that had ridden up on his chest as he put up his bags. No matter how poorly he thought of Muggles, he had to acknowledge that their sense of style and comfort was far superior than wearing robes in the heat of summer, a thought seemingly mirrored by the only other person inhabiting the confined space of the compartment.

The girl was small, probably a whole foot shorter than his six feet four inches once she stood. Her legs were propped up on the seat across the tiny aisle of the compartment, legs crossed daintily at the ankle displaying a strappy type of sandal that Draco didn't know the name of. the girl was wearing a white dress with an interesting lace pattern on it, one that nicely complemented her smooth, tan skin. Glossy brown curls hung down the girls' back, hair that Draco could easily see himself tangling his fingers into. It took quite a bit of self-control to not just reach over and grab one of the tantalizing curls, to see if they were really as soft and silky as they looked.

He was already attracted to her, and he hadn't even seen her face yet.

Damn.

The girl was reading a book that Draco couldn't see the name of, and her curls were servicing as a makeshift curtain between her and him so that she couldn't see his face and he couldn't see hers. Draco cleared his throat, making sure that he didn't sound nervous or flustered at all when his voice hit the air.

The girl looked up, eyes the color of melted chocolate meeting his own gray ones.

There was something familiar about this girls' gaze...inquisitive and open, like a child on their first day of kindergarten, awaiting new information.

A gaze that Draco was positive he had seen, but where?

The answer hit him like a ton of bricks to the stomach. Fuck.

"Granger?"

OOO

A/N: Reviews would be greatly appreciated. GREATLY appreciated.