A/N: I wanted to thank those of you who really encouraged me to keep writing by favoriting/following/leaving reviews; Boys was one of my first stories and I was going through a really difficult time. My writing style has changed a lot, and it's strange getting used to writing like this again, but I'm so excited to try it again. I'm currently in the process of rewriting the first parts of this story, or at least editing it, so expect to see those soon. Hopefully. But I was really excited to get this one out. :D

This new chapter is my way of saying thanks. Also, I know my Hermione isn't up to standard, but I'm happy with how she turned out for the time being. Sorry for the long A/N, it won't happen again…

In retrospect, Draco probably should've realized that nothing would ever be easy for her, no matter how much she wished it to be. Potter was no exception. That didn't mean she couldn't hold onto the perpetual hope that things would suddenly be a breeze for her, though.

It was an early morning in the Great Hall when Hermione Granger bravely slid into the seat across from Draco, a determined expression on her face (whoever said that Granger should've been in Ravenclaw didn't know what they were talking about.) Hardly anyone was awake at that moment, apart from Pansy, Blaise, Granger, Longbottom, and the Weaselette.

Draco hardly acknowledged Granger's presence, except for the rolling of her eyes. She continued to prepare her coffee—which she'd been needing more and more of lately—without so much as looking at the bushy-haired witch in front of her.

"What do you want, Granger?" she drawled, not looking up as she carefully stirred in her preferred amount of creamer—and no, she was not a coffee snob, nor was she picky. She just had a preference, and she would always say to not listen to Blaise or Pansy, or frankly anyone who would say otherwise.

"What are you planning on doing to Harry?" Granger asked. Draco's eyebrow almost raised, but she held her expression firmly. She lifted her eyes to meet the Gryffindor's only after she was finished making her coffee. Her eyes met Granger's, a cool stare coming from Draco and a determined one from the brunette. Granger was an open book, her face alone radiating concern for Potter, fury at Draco's superior stare, uncertainty about being the only Gryffindor at the Slytherin table. Draco was glad that even Potter wasn't that open.

Gryffindors were annoying just to look at.

"I'd say I'm surprised, but I'm really not," Draco said, satisfied when Granger straightened at her tone. She let the smik slide into place when the girl asked: "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Draco leaned across the table, smirk widening, hair grazing the tabletop. Granger's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not surprised you haven't already figured it out," she baited. Her satisfaction and amusement grew as Granger bristled. "We both know that you aren't really the Brightest Witch of Our Age. After all, you're dating the Weasel, a troll of a human." It came out as a half-whisper, as though she was gossiping with Pansy.

"And let me guess, you're the Brightest Witch of Our Age?" Granger bit back, eyes flashing.

Draco grinned, leaning back and grabbing the handle of her mug, bringing it to her lips before speaking.

"You're the one who suggested it, not me," Draco replied evenly. Her amusement slipped into her tone. Granger reddened in anger, crossing her arms as she did so often.

"That doesn't amuse me," she said flatly. Her lack of a good retort was saddening. Her troll of a human boyfriend must've been literally fucking her brains out since they started dating. What a shame.

"I'm not keen on hearing your laughter, Granger. It sounds rather similar to Moaning Myrtle on a good day, doesn't it?" The smirk widened as Granger let out an angry sigh and stood to leave.

"If I hear of a single thing from Harry about you—"

"Even that I give good head? Potter finally gets something pleasant in his life and you'll want to take it away. Tch, tch, and I thought Slytherins were the jealous type." Granger didn't even hear out the rest of the insult before she was marching back to her troll, who glared at Draco after taking Granger into a hug. As if Granger was the one who needed the comfort—Draco was the one hurt by the accusations.

...well, she wasn't entirely wrong, but Draco never intended to hurt Potter directly. She didn't have a choice in the matter, anyways.

Pansy interrupted her ever-darkening thoughts, sliding up beside her, curling her arm around Draco's, as if they were literally attached at the hip. Her sickly perfume filled Draco's nostrils, and despite how much she tried, she was unable to imagine life without that scent. She absently thought that Pansy must've been the reason straight girls were straight at Hogwarts—and why Blaise and Theodore were a little more gay than they claimed to be. Which was a lot.

"What's this I hear? Hermione Granger threatening you over Potter's safety?" Pansy asked conspiratorially. Draco chuckled.

"Next, she'll be convinced I've jinxed her teeth back to their regular size," she replied, playing along.

"Only because Weasley will notice them catching on his dick when she—"

"Pans, are we talking about Weasley's unusually large penis again?" Blaise interjected, having listened in on their conversation while sitting a little ways down the table, until deciding to make his most dramatic entrance. As Blaise did.

"We don't know it's unusually large—unless there's something you want to tell us, Blaise," Pansy said, squinting at the Italian before he shrugged.

"If I knew, I would come straight to you. You're my number one priority." He winked at her and flashed a mocking smile, which Draco knew meant he was joking around. Pany flipped her hair, batting her eyelashes playfully as Draco watched, amused, sipping her coffee. It was as if Pansy was trying to jokingly seduce Blaise for information, but it fell into the more "desperate" category than anything.

"And details?" Pansy prompted Blaise. She leaned forward on her elbows, resting her chin in her hands, looking, for all her worth, like an innocent little flower.

"Oh no, Pans. Pictures," he assured her. She sighed, back of her hand coming to rest on her forehead, almost as if swooning over the thought. Draco snorted. It was funny, how Blaise was completely unaware of how much Pansy had been dying to get inside his pants for the past three years, and that this was a step closer in that direction. Blaise was unknowingly—or maybe not—giving Pansy hope that something would come of them.

Silence blanketed their conversation as they waited for the House Elves to send up breakfast. Not many people were in the Great Hall yet, and a quick Tempus showed that they wouldn't have to wait too long for food. In the silence, their amusement faded and the grim heaviness settled back in Draco's stomach. She could see the tension the other two Slytherins felt, in their posture and their eyes. Slytherins were notorious for their masks, but around their friends, they could never lie. What Draco was doing was tearing them apart, and she was afraid. But no one could ever know. And especially not Potter.