A/N: The romance is coming, I promise; but, y'know, they hate each other (sort of), so let me just ease into it, m'kay? ^_^

"The salt enters the wound; my take… on you is simple… Time, spent waiting offshore; the calm—before the storm. My take… from you is simple (so hear your fear… to hear your fear). You're such a comfortable liar, you're such a comfortable liar, you're such a comfortable liar… so come on… 'cause I said WRONG, you comfortable liar. YOU COMFORTABLE LIAAARRR. LIIIIIAAAAARRRRR." Listening to some Chevelle today. God, I love them. None of their songs make any sense though. Those crazy Lofleur brothers! In case you hadn't noticed, the song is called "Comfortable Liar". :D Ok, to the story! I don't own Harry Potter, and I never will!

CHAPTER SIX: Bathroom Humour

When Draco next found himself in hell—something he didn't think he would be experiencing too soon after his latest stint in the hospital wing—it came in the form of a small, squat witch with dirt smeared on her face, and Herbology.

"Today, class," Professor Sprout began, waving her hands about in the air to catch their attention. Draco dropped his conversation with Blaise, and turned to her with a deliberately bored air. But it was hard when he was dripping sweat from what felt like every pore; they were in Greenhouse Three, and the sun beaming in through the glass panes of the roof was almost unendurable.

He hid his discomfort behind a sneer, occasionally pulling at the collar of his robes when he was certain that no one was looking. On one such occasion, as the class was called to order, he caught Hermione's eye, and she gave him a sideways look. Shooting her a glare, he promptly gave her the proverbial 'cold shoulder' from across the Greenhouse, and tuned into what the Herbology teacher was saying.

"…so I will be putting you all into partner groups. Any questions?"

Yeah, thought Draco. What the hell are we doing?

But, as he looked around, he saw that everyone was nodding. He scowled; he couldn't ask if even Crabbe and Goyle seemed to understand. Snorting, he closed his eyes and leaned back on his arms, letting his mind drift.

"…Malfoy."

"Huh?" he muttered, sitting up abruptly, broken from his daze. He looked around in confusion. Everyone seemed to be in small groups or pairs, except for him. "Uh—"he began, then almost yelled when someone slammed a seemingly empty plant pot violently down in front of him. He looked up and saw Ron Weasley.

"Oh, joy," he drawled. "And do I get the pleasure of having you as my partner, then, Weasley?"

Ron nodded slowly, his jaw tight and angry. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Oh, joy," he repeated. He looked up again as Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom walked over to join them. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Neville began handing out gloves. He held a pair out to Draco, but the blonde-haired Slytherin just stared at him.

"Nooo way," he suddenly burst out. Neville, startled, backed away, dropping the gloves in Draco's lap. The Slytherin sat up. "Are you serious? Are you serious?!" he looked around almost helplessly, finally catching Professor Sprout's eye. "You stuck me in a group of Gryffindors? Is this your idea of a joke?" She looked at him wryly.

"Mr. Malfoy—"she began. "I expect you to get your work done—and pay attention in class." She added, then scooted away to help a boy who had just slipped and fell into a pot of some kind of tubers.

Draco sighed. "So I'm being punished." He stated. Sighing again, he picked up the gloves Longbottom had dropped in his lap and slid them on over his hands. "Oh, joy." He muttered again.

At the end of class, when everyone's faces were smudged with dirt, and their skin was tattooed with scratches from the thorny plants they'd been handling, Professor Sprout called them all to attention again.

"Remember; I expect you to complete the extra project over the next two weeks; everyone who wishes to pass will have it into to me by that date! Dismissed, and have a lovely day!"

Draco, frowning, leaned over to the person closest to him—Hermione.

"Psssst," he hissed. "Hey, Granger!" when she looked over at him, her expression wary, he asked; "What the hell is this 'extra project'?" she rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Malfoy—do you ever actually pay attention in class?"

"Obviously not." He said bluntly and coldly, receiving another eye roll.

"You have to—with your group, that's us—"she indicated herself, Ron, and Neville.

"Yeah, I figured that much out," he interrupted drily, but she ignored him and continued.

"—you have to gather samples of plants from around and at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Look them up, label them, and map their growth periods and so forth." She picked up her school bag from the floor, and, swinging it over her shoulder, began to wipe off tracks of mud from her robes. Draco watched her idly.

"Right up your alley, then, isn't it, Granger?" he drawled, and she looked up in confusion. "Always with your nose stuck inside some huge dusty book. So I guess I have to collect this plant shit with you, the Weasel, and good 'ol Wonderblunder Longbottom, huh?" She nodded, her mouth a thin, tight line. But his eyes were on her hands, still trying to clean off her front. He indicated the action.

"Why bother?" he said, and there was no cruelty in his tone—just matter-of-fact plainness. "It won't make you any cleaner—you'll always be a filthy little Mudblood."

Just before the end of his sentence, the Greenhouse had gone silent, and the last word rang out clearly. A few people looked shocked, some angry, but some—mostly Slytherins—smirked. Professor Sprout, however, did not look pleased.

"I will not tolerate that language, Mr. Malfoy." She said coldly. "Do not use that word in my class again. Now, everyone, go, or you'll be late for your next class."

"Well, technically," Draco began mockingly. "It's not a classroom—it's a greenhouse,"

"GET OUT!" she snapped at him, and everyone bolted, out into the sunshine.

"Jesus, what a spaz." Blaise complained. He was walking in step with Draco, his arms folded behind his head. His eyes were half-closed, and, on the outside, he'd almost looked agreeable, until he'd opened his mouth. Draco frowned.

"What the hell is a 'spaz'?" he demanded.

Blaise shrugged, an amiable half-smile on his face. "Something I heard some Muggle say—it means 'freak out'; for a person who overreacts about everything." Draco nodded.

"Oh, so, like Professor Sprout, then." He glared at the ground. "Bloody whore." He muttered. Beside him, Blaise was yawning.

"Yeah." He replied. "It's hot." He tilted his head slightly back and squinted at the sun. "Glad we don't have to use sunblock." Draco shot him a sharp look.

"Sun—what?" he demanded.

"It's a Muggle thing." Blaise began, but Draco held up a hand.

"Zabini," he said. "You spend way too much time listening to Muggles' conversations. Seriously—get a life, you creepy Muggle stalker."

Beside him, Blaise just grinned.

"Why, Draco—that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Ever." He emphasized. "Are you sick or something?" he reached out a hand, jokingly, as if to feel the blonde Slytherin's forehead for fever. Draco swatted his hand away. "Ooh, are you cranky?" Blaise said in a stupidly, ridiculously high voice.

"Shut up."

"Ah, there we go—there's the Draco I know and—well, there's the Draco I know." He smirked. "Love? Well, definitely not—"

"Zabini?"

"Yeah, Malfoy?"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

Blaise grinned. "I dunno—did you? Maybe?"

"Shut. Up."

Blaise gave him a mocking half salute. "Aye aye, captain." He said; it was obviously a reference to something. Not understanding, Draco chose to ignore it.

"I'm not even going to ask," he mumbled, and picked up the pace towards the castle. Behind him, Blaise cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled something. It came out muffled, but Draco could have sworn he heard something along the lines of 'wanker'.

Not too hard to figure out what that was.

When Draco left Transfiguration, he was almost bowled over by someone who burst out of the classroom behind him, slamming into his shoulder from the back. Catching his balance against the wall with one hand, he reached out to grab the assaulter with the other. Hooking them by the collar of their robes, he yanked, and they spun around.

"Hey!" he began. "What the hell do you think you're—"he paused, staring at the girl he had hold of—Hermione Granger—and at the blood leaking freely from her nose.

"What the—"he muttered. "You get in a fight, Granger?"

She stared at him, her eyes red and swollen, as her nose continued to bleed. Then, as if coming from a daze, she shook her head (splattering him with small drops of red), and pulled her arm away.

"I—I'm fine," she snapped (her voice muffled as she clapped a hand over her nose), and, turning, she bolted.

"What the—"Draco muttered again. Raising his voice, he said; "That's not fine, Granger! When your nose looks like someone turned on a ketchup fountain full-blast, that is not fine!" he didn't know if she heard him or not; if she did, she gave no indication. She just continued to run down the hall, and around the corner.

Draco sighed, and, running a hand through his fine hair, looked around the halls. They were emptying quickly now; the next class was starting soon. He hesitated, debating silently with himself, then growled. A first year passing nearby shot him a scared look, and scampered off.

"Fine." He said aloud. "Fine!" he turned and started walking the way Granger had bolted. "FINE, I'll go after her. Damn friggin' conscience!"

A group of second years watched him go, frowning at each other and exchanging glances.

After wandering along Hermione's tracks, he found a spot of blood outside a door. When he looked up, he frowned. He was outside the boy's bathroom. Still frowning, he pushed open the door and went inside.

"Granger?" he called, hesitant. "Are you in here?" not that she would be, it was the guy's bathroom, after all, what was he thinking? Blood outside the door or not, she must have gone past, maybe around the corner… he turned to leave, when a soft snuffling made him freeze. Frowning, he leaned around the sinks and peered around the corner, towards the toilets. Nothing. His eyes narrowed, he crept across the cold tiled floor, towards the cubicles. After a second of hesitation, he pushed the closest stall door open.

"Well, there you are, Granger."

She looked up at the sound of his voice. Perched on the toilet seat, her arms wrapped tight around her waist, she stared at him. There was a wad of toilet paper up her nose, the blood dying it red already dark and drying.

"M—Malfoy?" she stammered, and she sounded horrified.

"Jeez, Granger; you're quite a sight. Not for sore eyes, though," he squinted at her. "Rather, for making eyes sore…" she stood up, scrabbling off of the toilet seat.

"I'm really not in the mood for your… what are you doing in here anyways?" she snapped, and, pushing past him, she walked towards the mirror.

"Well," he drawled, following her lazily to the sink. "I really should be asking you that, shouldn't I?" she turned her head towards him, her eyes red and swollen.

"What?"

He shook his head, faking a sad exasperation. "Honestly, Granger," he said, adopting and mimicking her tone of condescending vexation. "This is the boy's bathroom." He raised an eyebrow. "Society would, after all, dictate that I clearly have more right than you to be in here." He stretched, pulling his arms up above his head until his back cracked. Sighing, he rested his hands on the counter, long fingers gripping the cold porcelain. He glanced sideways, and saw that she was staring at him with something akin to horror.

"Oh—bloody hell." She swore, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Whoa, Granger—watch it. My virgin ears can't take your potty mouth." She snorted, looking into the mirror again.

"Balls to your ears, Malfoy; I really couldn't care less." She dabbed at her eyes and face with water, washing away the dried red smears under her nose. "I look horrible." She muttered under her breath.

"Yep." Draco agreed. She turned and glowered at him.

"I wasn't talking to you, Malfoy," she snapped. He just grinned cockily.

"If you don't want me to answer you, Granger, then shut up."

She snorted, and turned away from him. "Whatever. I'm just going to go now." She took a step away, but Draco, following some urge he didn't understand, suddenly didn't think she should leave. His hand shot out; he caught her by the wrist and, pulling her back, pushed her against the sink. He put his hands on either side of her, gripping the cold marble counter, and narrowed his eyes. She stared at him, her face twisted with shock—and fear?

"Malfoy—what the hell are you—?" he clapped a hand over her mouth, the other still gripping the sink.

"Why do you hate me, Granger?" he blurted, then frowned. Why was he asking this? He heard himself continue. "Why can't you ever just… oh, bollocks, I don't even know." She tried to edge away, but he slammed the hand that was over her mouth back down on the counter, pinning her between his arms. Between him and the sinks.

"Malfoy—" she began, but whatever she had been about to say was interrupted by the sound of the door, swinging open loudly. There was a scuffle of feet over the stone floor, and Harry and Ron burst onto the scene. They stared at Hermione and Draco, their eyes wide and confused.

"What—what are you two doing?" Harry asked, looking back and forth between the two.

"Um," said Ron.

Draco released the sink and pushed away from Hermione. She leaned weakly against the counter, looking dazed. Without a word, Draco turned his back on her. He bumped shoulders hard with Ron and Harry on his way out, and then he was gone.

Review and comment, please? : D And, yeah, sorry this took so long to post… I've been WAAYYY busy. But it's a longish post, so, thar. ;)