Disclaimer: Credit goes to the brilliant J.K. Rowling and the equally talented Jane Austen who's novel I've pilfered in part (say that ten times fast) for the purpose of this story. Which doesn't belong to me in case you didn't catch that.

The Ferret King Reads Austen

Hermione sat back in front of the fire in the Heads Dormitories reading her favorite book Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. She sighed, thinking how shocked the student population would be if they found out she actually preferred a sentimental love story to Hogwarts: A History. Fortunately, the only other person who would have a reason to be in her common room on a Friday night was the Head Boy, and he was mercifully busy combing his hair or something, a task Hermione was fairly certain would keep him occupied for at least half an hour. However, Hermione seemed to be one of those people for whom nothing goes as expected. She had only made it to the bottom of the first page when the novel was unceremoniously ripped from her hands.

Hermione didn't even bother looking up. "You have to the count of five to return my book and to get the hell out of my face, Malfoy," she demanded. How Malfoy got to be Head Boy with the manners of a troll, the spine of a flobberworm, and the looks of a ferret was beyond her. After much deliberation of the matter, she concluded that the entire world was involved in some sort of mass conspiracy, bent on proving to the world that while Hermione Granger was an intelligent and capable young witch, she did have a breaking point-and it's name was Draco Malfoy.

Who still wasn't giving back her book.

"One," she counted icily.

"Pride and Prejudice," he crowed. "What kind of muggle rubbish are you reading?"

Hermione glared at him. "For your information, Jane Austen was a witch."

Malfoy looked her incredulously. "No,"he was genuinely shocked, "That's not...not possible."

The witch crossed her arms. "And why not?"

"Because," responded the Ferret King, flipping through the pages, "A witch would be smarter than to write something like; "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in posession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

"Malfoy," Hermone rolled her eyes, "The book was published in 1813. How many witches do you know that were alive in 1813?"

"Well, I'd have to look at her records, but I'm willing to bet money on McGonnagal." Hermione's lips twitched-rest assured that the movement was involutary-but refused to respond with anything other than, "Two."

"Take me for example," Malfoy went on.

"I'd rather not," muttered Hermione.

In typical Malfoy fashion, he ignored her. "I'm single,"

"That's debatable," sneered Hermione. "How's your slut Pansy Parkinson?"

"Now that was uncalled for, Granger," Malfoy lectured. "What's Pansy ever done to you?"

"Nearly knocked me out with her implants last week at dinner, for one."

Malfoy shuddered. To tell the truth, he was not involved with the Slytherin Bimbo, something for which he was very grateful.

"Second," Malfoy said, trying to get the image of the artificially endowed Pansy out of his mind, "I am a man-"

"Once again a debatable point," Hermione cut him off.

Malfoy looked highly affronted. "Granger, anytime you want me to prove otherwise, my bedroom door is open...though we can close it so no one can hear us."

Now it was Hermione's turn to shudder. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't proposition me so close to bedtime. I'd rather not have nightmares. And we both know that you wouldn't bed the mudblood, remember Malfoy?"

"What can I say?" he excused himself. "I'm a man of eclectic tastes. And anyway, that mudblood/pureblood rubbish went out the window after the war."

Yet another reason Hermione Granger hated Draco Malfoy. She could no longer hold his Death Eater tendencies against him after he had proven that he didn't have any In fact, he had turned out to be a rather remarkable ally against Voldemort.

But he's still a bastard rat-fink, her mind said.

True Hermione, very true, and don't you forget it.

"Three, Malfoy."

"Funny," he mused, "I'm on three as well. Thirdly, I am, as Jane Austen puts it 'in posession of a good fortune'," he mused, daring Hermione to contest this third claim knowing that this was something that could not be disputed. Hermione momentarily reflected on the injustice that exists in the world for someone like Malfoy to be rolling in gold when people like Ron could barely afford dress robes but let it pass as the Amazing Talking Ferret went on with his argument. "So according to this Austen person, as I am all of the above, I must be looking for the wife when this is not the case. Every witch knows that every wizard (at least one with my attributes) wants to play the field. Jane Austen wasn't a witch and you, my honest little Gryffindor, are a liar!" he concluded triumphantly.

Hermione colored slightly knowing she had been caught red-handed. She couldn't fathom how anything Malfoy had said made any sense whatsoever from a logical perspective, but he had found her out nonetheless.

"Four and Five, now get out!"

And to her surprise, he did.

Of course, as Malfoy was Malfoy, the subject wasn't drop the next day, or the day after, or even in the week following the incident.

And of course, Hermione, being Hermione, did her darndest to stay away from him. Although, when you are sharing a relatively small living area, that can be virtually possible. Especially when Draco Malfoy insisted on staying in said living area (lurking, Hermione called it) and smirking at Hermione as she tried to do her homework.

Between smirks, he was contantly bombarding her with comments such as "According to Austen, is this wife I'm supposed to be looking for supposed to be sexy? Because if I have to get married she better be sexy."

To this, Hermione responded with a rather curt, "Malfoy, I don't think Jane Austen wrote about men who seek for the other team. She was referring to straight men."

He gave a rather manly gasp. "Straight? I'm straight! I'm as straight as...as...as a broomstick!"

"Yeah," Hermione snorted. "The tail end with the bent twigs..."

"Well, what about your friends Potty and Weasel? They seem to spend a lot of time together."

Hermione rolled her eyes for what seemed like the millionth time since becoming Head. "Is that the best you can do? Those nicknames are so outdated! And anyhow, I've snogged both of them and they seem to enjoy it so-"

"What?!" Malfoy yelped, cutting Hermione off in mid recollection. For some reason the thought of the busy-haired bookworm with her tongue down St.Potter's throat made him want to pour himself a rather large goblet of firewhiskey and then fly his brand new Firebolt into the Whomping Willow. Of course, that would be rather stupid. Which is what irked Malfoy the most-that Hermione Granger of all people was putting such stupid thoughts in his head. Thoughts like smashing his broomstick and being nice to the Weasleys and snogging her senseless and admitting that Jane Austen was a damn good writer.

"Well, obviously, it didn't work out," Hermione said. "And anyhow, Harry and I were both drunk and Ron...well Ron's a bit too much of a man whore."

Malfoy agreed with her assesment of Ron as a whore because after what happened between the redhead and Lavender Brown, the fact simply could not be denied. He didn't say this of course. What he said was, "Is there anyone in this school you haven't kissed?"

As he said it he mentally kicked himself, but his heart was racing (possibly even faster than his Firebolt) and he did his best to look nonchalant. The combined effect gave him a rather constipated look, but it must be admitted that he still looked rather...

Hot.

Sexy.

Damn good looking.

"A few," said Hermione who's palms were beginning to sweat. This was it. The moment they had been avoiding for months-perhaps even years. Bastard rat fink, bastard rat fink, her mind chanted, but her hormones and her heart were leading her in a completely different direction.

How could things have changed so rapidly in such a short amount of time? Last week they had been at each other's throats over Jane Austen of all topics, and now the sexual tension was so thick you could smell it. Or that may have been the smell of Malfoy's owl cage which he had failed to clean, but there was a definite odor in the room.

"Namely?" prodded Malfoy, his voice raspy, and Hermione knew that the same thing she was thinking was also in his mind. (Funny how she had slowly become accustomed to the idea that Malfoy could actually think

Afraid that thinking too much of the situation might cause her to over rationalize and decide against what she had nearly decided, Hermione commanded herself not to think, and opened her mouth and said, "Well, I haven't kissed you..."

Blame it on the butterbeer, the heat of the moment, or that infernal copy of Pride and Prejudice, but damn it, she wanted to kiss him.

She held her breath. It was his move.

He took a step closer.

"Do you want to?" he smirked. Again! Even at a moment like this, he still smirked!!!!

Damn him! He was trying to make it hard on her! Could he ever be a gentleman? BASTARD RAT FINK!!!!! Hermione's mind screamed.

And for once, she ignored her thoughts.

And kissed him.

After several kisses Draco pulled away. "Hermione?" he asked tentatively.

"Hm...?" She was still savoring his kiss.

"Can I borrow that book?"

"Which one?" she inquired though she knew full well which book he was talking about.

"Pride and Prejudice."

"Why?"

"Because," he replied. "If making fun of that novel makes you kiss me, I'd best find something else in there to mock."

"But Draco," she pouted. "Think of all the time you'd waste reading it when you could simply do this-"

And she kissed him again.

A/N: Hello you lovely readers lurking in Reviewland! You know the rules-you read you review! If you do, I will love you forever!

LavvyLav