Basketcase

Basketcase

'...The clock became a bullet hole

Cruel and unkind

It hurt me with its second hand

Alone another night

Stranger, enter from the East

Stranger, step inside this place....'

--Jewel, Enter From the East.

Chapter Seven: Cooperation, Observation and Realization.

Hermione came back into the Common Room, after calming herself down for a few minutes in her room. She walked at her usual pace, trying to avoid looking his way, as she could feel his eyes on her. She was conscious of the fact that her heart seemed to be beating faster than usual, but dismissed it without another thought as she kneeled down and settled on the soft, deep crimson carpet, her back against the foot of the couch Draco was laying down on. Draco was facing her, his hands folded on his stomach.

"Okay, Malfoy," she said, turning to face him with a stern hint in her voice that told him that she meant business, "we had an agreement. I won't lecture you, you will not make any unrelated or unnecessary remarks about me, my family, or my blood." Draco smirked, as he caught that she had missed something. Hermione quirked a brow, noting the look on his face and the sly glint in his gray eyes. Quickly, she caught herself as she remembered her words. "And my friends," she said firmly, which wiped the smirk off of his face. Hermione smiled at him with pride, before she turned back to her notes.

She skimmed through it, flipping through the parchments.

"Good God, Granger," Draco said, as soon as he saw the pages of notes she had written. "You didn't write a bloody book, did you?" Hermione paused, glaring at him from the corner of her eye, before going back.

"No, Malfoy, I didn't write a book," she snapped. "Now would you shut up? I'm trying to concentrate."

"Concentrate on what? You wrote it all down, didn't you? Well then, just read it to me and get on with it!"

"Impatience and attempting to bicker with me will not get you anywhere," she said firmly, not looking up. Draco sighed, as he just kept silent, waiting for her. He watched her, observing yet again. He couldn't help that she somehow intrigued him, and that he couldn't fight the itching urge to watch her.

Draco was slightly disappointed to see that she had put on a hooded jacket, to conceal her upper half from him. He frowned. This wasn't going to be any fun. He looked down, and his frown turned into a scowl. She was sitting with her legs crossed, and her side was to him. What was he going to bloody do when she was practicing how to bloody read?

"Granger, hurry the hell up," he sourly said to her. "I haven't got all night. Not all of us prefer to study and do God knows whatever else until the wee hours of the first light. Some of us actually like sleep, and not to forget, need the energy." Hermione sighed exasperatedly, as she finally looked up, but it was not at him. She was looking straight into the fire, as if she had just noticed it to be there.

"Yes, fire, fascinating," he sarcastically said, rolling his eyes at the look in her eyes. "In the Muggle World, you were once apes in the past and rubbed two sticks together to make fire. Would you like me to show you?" Hermione's head snapped in his direction, an unpleasant glower on her face.

"Malfoy, we did not come from apes," she said bitterly. He gaped at her, actually a bit surprised.

"Granger, don't tell me you believe in a higher power? What are you? Mormon?"

"No, I'm not Mormon," she snapped. "Besides, not all of us are cynics and pro-anarchy and chaos like you, Malfoy. I just happen to think that it's impossible to have come from apes. We're a highly evolved species, smarter than apes and much, much more developed."

"Granger, you know it's possible. An ancient Wizard--"

"Where would apes learn magic and sorcery, Malfoy?" she suddenly said, making a point. Draco stared at her, stunned at the way she could leave him at a loss in a debate. When he could not think of anything else, he just cursed at himself mentally for letting a Mudblood flabbergast him and leave him wordless. He hated it that she won and had the last say.

"Granger, just hurry up with your notes," he said icily. Hermione nodded, a smile dominating her features, knowing that she herself was the victor, before doing just as he said. Draco wanted nothing but to wipe that irksome smile on her face.

"Well," she said unhurriedly, her eyes still going over her notes. She flipped back to the first page, sighing. "Dumbledore wants us to create a newspaper for Hogwarts and only for the Hogwarts community. He wants it to appeal to every year and every house, with both light-hearted, humorous articles and unbiased factual articles on events going on in both Hogwarts and the outer Wizarding World surrounding us." She paused, as Draco merely looked at her. He was thinking about the newspaper and how it would work, not to leave out if they could do such a thing. The possibilities were in fact, a good and numerous amount, but could they really pull off something as big as this?

"He left us in charge of practically everything," she continued a moment later, just as Draco had halted his thoughts. "The format, design, planning, choice of sections and most importantly, the staff." Draco tensed at her words.

"What do you mean 'staff'?" he asked curiously. Hermione sighed again.

"It's going to be the most difficult part, but once we recruit them, it should go smoothly and it'll make everything easier. We need writers, columnists, and a photographer.... Basically, we need one writer for each section we decide to have, if not two."

"You mean we have to choose the writers and that whole lot?"

"Yes. We are the Heads."

"What about the Prefects? Don't tell me they're stuck with the idle jobs!"

"Malfoy, we're going to discuss this with the Prefects tomorrow, if we get everything sorted out tonight. But they will each have a say in the sections and writers, but it will be us who will mainly decide who will get a spot and who won't." Draco shifted, sitting up, still in deep thought.

"How are we going to get the newspaper journalist candidates? Will they have to send in a sample of their writing or will we have to actually meet with them?"

"Well, I thought about this," she said slowly, "and I think that we should have them send in a sample of their work first, then we choose the ones that are the best, and then meet with them to see if they're right for the job." Draco nodded, and Hermione continued on when he was silent and took it that he didn't have anymore further questions.

"I was having a bit of trouble with what years can and cannot apply," she said uncertainly, as she looked over at Draco, indecisive on the year requirements. He was looking at her with his eyes dark beneath his light blonde hair, and Hermione was captivated and struck in awe at how different he looked without that embedded smirk or scowl permanently etched on his pallid face. She found her thoughts slowly wandering from the important matter they were discussing... to how smooth his skin seemed, and if it was really as soft as it looked. And as her eyes were slowly trailing his rather magnificent features, she came to examine his hair. It seemed silky and shined as the flames danced in the fireplace, making his hair glow in a godly way that was entrancing. She had never taken to observing his hair color, for to her it was always the same silvery blonde, but she came to think that she had never seen anyone else with a hair shade like his. It was extraordinary, almost ! mystical, as she noticed that it was the color of pure faded sunlight.

"I say fifth years and up should be simple and fair enough," he said hesitantly. He wasn't aware of the way she seemed to be looking at him, for he was still anxious on determining the newspaper decisions, and was trying to land on the fair and right choice. The newspaper would be a series of complete blunders -- therefore classifying it as one major and vast blunder -- if even one small thing was overseen or incorrect.

Hermione shook herself out of her trance, mentally hitting herself and more additional scoldings, as Draco unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair. Nervous and afraid to be caught in the same trance, she looked away, blushing, and instead affixed her gaze on the dancing flames inside the fireplace.

"Well, Granger?" she heard him ask. "What do you think? Could fifth years handle such a thing?"

"It will have to do," she said, getting back on her original train of thought of the newspaper. "If we raise it up to the sixth years, it will completely narrow out and slim our choices, and I'm afraid that that will give us even more difficulty in recruiting staff, for not many sixth and seventh years might be interested in working for the newspaper and actually have the talent or skill. Fourth years, I'm afraid, they might be quite a bit..."

"Green and inexperienced," Draco nodded, obviously thinking the exact same thing.

"Exactly," Hermione sighed. "We need a staff who knows the way around here and knows the professors very well, not to mention the knowledge and familiarity. Although I'm sure the fourth years are good and hard working students, I'm afraid they might get a bit intimidated when it comes to interviewing the professors or perhaps a visitor, even a student in their grade or above. Our staff needs a sense of steadfastness of their stand, and the awareness that comes along with being here a number of years." Draco nodded again, agreeing with her on her commentary.

"Good thinking, Granger," he said absentmindedly, not even taking in the fact or realizing that he had just complimented her so obviously.

Hermione blushed, aware that he had never said such a thing to her before. But she shook away the niggling shivers, as she forced herself back to the subject.

"I was thinking of the title of the newspaper, and I knew it had to be catchy, somehow," she said tentatively, trying to swallow down the sudden dryness of her throat. "I thought of the Hogwarts Harmonium. What do you think?" Hermione looked out of the corner of her eye to him, where he was just looking at her inquisitively. His pastel blonde hair covered part of his eyes, so she couldn't read him so clearly.

"I think that might as well be our title," he drawled, but Hermione could hear from his voice that he had been thinking about it as well. She was secretly glad that all this time she had been talking, he hadn't spent thinking of ways to humiliate her or Harry or Ron in front of the school, which was her worst fear of this night so far. She knew she would get too easily frustrated if she had to explain it all over again. They were moving along fairly quickly, and she was glad of that. "But Granger, don't you think that 'Harmonium' might be too big a word for the illiterate dimwits in this school? Like perhaps, your hothead Weasley?"

"Malfoy, please," she said flatly, not so pleased that the old Malfoy had stepped in again. Though, the odd thing was, she wasn't as offended as she thought she might have been when he had just insulted Ron. "We were doing so well. No need to stop now."

"Granger, I'm only voicing out a point," he said to her. "Think about it. You know that there are some brain-dead disappointments wandering about in this school. They might be intimidated by such a big word. And by brain-dead disappointments I mean Hufflepuffs. And some Gryffindors."

"I'm afraid you're forgetting Crabbe and Goyle," she remarked dryly. "And they're in Slytherin."

"No," he said. "I don't even have a clue as to why they were sorted into Slytherin. They should be in Hufflepuff. With stomachs as big and bottomless as theirs, the name suits them, don't you think?" Hermione had to smile at this, as she had always wondered about their eating capacity and how much their stomachs had to have until they were full. She had guessed one day in Potions that they must've had bottomless stomachs, just as Draco had commented.

"Because they're blubbering bullies who use their horrendous weight to their advantages," she said honestly, looking back down at her notes, while she heard Draco chuckle. Her heart skipped a beat, but she ignored it, focusing on how her writing slanted over to the side like it did. "They could never be in Hufflepuff, with the way they act. They bully and steal textbooks from First Years just because they might have accidentally eaten it when they were hungry in Potions and they had already eaten up their quills." Draco laughed even more heartedly, and she found that her heart had suddenly leaped up to her throat. But she went on, voicing out her opinions about the two dim-witted gorillas. "They're in Slytherin because that's where they belong," she swallowed. "Sure, they don't even have a speck of brains but they're smart enough to know that they can frighten people who aren't as bulky or perhaps years below them. And only Slytherins do so. They use their advant! ages for their own motives, mostly so that they can only gain."

Draco was silent now, just looking at her, intrigued and captivated. This was the first time he had noticed how dim her eyes had gotten, or the way she stared so firmly at the parchment in her hands. It was as if she was afraid to look up. But he also noticed the way she had spoken her words with a sort of stern honesty, a straightforward honesty that at times he wished for someone to speak with when discussing about certain matters with him. It wasn't a sharp or brutal sort of honesty, but simply a sincere and truthful one, and Draco couldn't help but to admire that about her. He knew the truth was always a traitorous beast with the jaws filled with bloodied and razor-sharp, jagged teeth to rip through anyone, and though she had really said something that he was to be offended of, for she had insulted his House... he didn't really mind as much as he thought he would have. He found himself slightly smiling at her words, and the way she avoided looking at him. He fo! und that he missed it when she looked at him with such a burning hatred and glittering fire in her eyes, even if she had just done so quite a while ago.

"Well, Granger," he said to her, without a hint of misdemeanor. "I bet a majority of your little Gryffindor friends and even all the other Houses feel the same, but that doesn't mean it's true." Draco's smile widened as he saw her body tense. "I mean, really, Granger, have you ever given a Slytherin a chance? A chance to prove you wrong? You're so set that we're the evil ones that you can't even face the fact of a possibility that you might be proved wrong by giving any of my Housemates a chance. You're afraid. You, your little Gryffindor friends, and this whole damn school need someone to be the villain, someone to be the evil and devious ones. You see us how you want to see us," he said, seeing the way her eyes dimmed in guilt and realization. "Think about it. What if all the Slytherins were like you bloody Gryffindors, heroic and irritating and so damn righteous?"

Hermione listened to him, his voice and words prickling through her mind and stabbing at her stubbornness and believes. She bit her lip, her heart heavy with a shadow eclipsing filled with doubt and qualm.

'He's right,' a voice spoke out in her mind. 'He's right. You've never given any of the Slytherins a chance. You've never tried to have a decent conversation, never wondered if they were just like you. You always thought they were cruel and heartless little gits, and that was it.'

'No, that was not it,' she argued back. 'I gave Draco a chance. I did. I asked him to be civil with me. I wonder about him and why he is that way. Not once had I blamed it on the fact that he was a Slytherin.'

'No,' it retaliated. 'No, you didn't. But the fact that he's a Slytherin is a major reason that you never dared to break through that cold shield he seems to have. You're afraid of him. You know he's just like them but you never wanted a chance for him to prove you wrong.'

Hermione sighed inwardly, as she just stared at her parchment of notes. The words seemed to be in a foreign language as she fixed her gaze on it. She could feel his eyes on her, and she didn't think she could bear it if she looked up. She had to respond. She couldn't let him get to her so easily.

"Malfoy," she said. "Don't you think you're being a hypocrite? Here you are, speaking to me about the obvious discrimination of and between the Houses, yet... you're just like me. You're just like all of us. You've never given any of us a chance, either," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice that Draco was surprised at. "You're always putting us down, us little Gryffindors. Not to mention the Hufflepuffs. Don't you see that we only see you that way because you choose to act it? We believe in what we see, not just what we want to see. I mean, I see you, and..."

"And what, Granger?" Draco suddenly asked her, firmly. "You see me torturing an innocent soul? Killing off all the Mudbloods and Muggles one by one? Planning and scheming to be the next Dark Lord? Or what about your precious Potter? Do you see me making plans to massacre him and finally rid him off the face of this earth?" Hermione finally looked up at him, and he saw that same fire inside her eyes, except now it glittered with a darker edge, not anything before when she would look up at him defiantly.

"Are you?" she asked him, slight anger in her voice. Draco felt antagonism rising in him.

"What do you think, Granger?" he snapped. "My father was a Death Eater, and so I just have to be one!" he said, in a raised voice that surprised her. "Isn't that what people say? 'Oh look, there's Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater?' It's ridiculous! Just because I'm in Slytherin and because of my father!" He was looking at her fiercely, his eyes gleaming darkly. "And what about you? Don't you think that some of the Hufflepuffs, or Ravenclaws or even some of your fellow Gryffindors are Death Eaters?" he spat, obviously infuriated of the subject. "Or are all the Slytherins just the ones with the clearly seen evil and dark future? Tell me, Granger, because I sure as hell would like to know!" Hermione felt a knot in her throat, as her thoughts pointed their thin and sharp fingers at her, accusing and taunting.

"No!" she suddenly said, honest. "No, I don't!" This angered Draco more, as he stood up and got off the couch and stormed towards her, as he grabbed her arm and forced her to face him. She felt a fire inside her, as she stared up at him, his grip on her arm so tight that she could feel the pain shooting up from his fingers digging into her flesh. They were standing close, and her heart was racing, as she saw the look in his eyes. She had never seen him like this before. It frightened her, intrigued and sent something to rush through her, and it was all so unfamiliar.

"And why not?" he asked her, his voice quiet but enraged. His eyes were shadowed so dangerously. She didn't pull away from him, as she suddenly noticed his eyes flickering, and that he was searching her.

"Because," she whispered to him, her voice shaky. "They would never be on the same side as the Dark Lord. It's a well known fact that Slytherins are easily swayed to working for someone, even if it is to kneel at their feet, for promised power, wealth and glory."

"How do you know," he said darkly, "that your Gryffindors don't drool at the chance to gain power, wealth and glory? Huh, Granger? How the hell would you know? How would you even know if they'd considered the opportunity? Can you read their damn minds, Granger? Do you really know all? Tell me. I would really love to know," he seethed.

Hermione said nothing, as she just stared into his icy eyes the color of gathering storm clouds during a storm. She didn't know what to say.

As if Draco read her mind, he let go of her arm, after one more painful squeeze. His eyes weren't full of hatred, or even annoyance... just anger. Anger. But it was a darker and sharper edged anger that she had never seen him express. Like anger that had been bottled up inside for so long. Like anger that was planted and grew slowly inside, until it was much to big to hold back anymore, but chosen to keep it hidden anyway.

"You think you're so smart and clever," he hissed at her. "You and your Gryffindors think you're so high and mighty and bloody righteous that it makes me sick. You're not any different than any of us. You're just as evil, just as capable of destruction and choosing the Dark side instead of the right for your own selfish damn reasons. It makes me bloody sick the way you look at my House and I, like we're filthy and unworthy, like scum, when you're just the same. You blind yourself with glory and hide behind your precious Harry bloody Potter, and you think that makes you special. News flash, Granger; you're not. You're not. You treat us with just as much hate and revulsion as we treat you, but you think you're not accountable for it. You blame it on us. You can't handle thinking that it's just as much your fault as it is ours. Get off your thrown, Granger," he said to her, his eyes flickering dimly.

"Grab an armor and I suggest you get ready, because once we're out of this sodding school, no one's going to give a bloody damn if you were a Gryffindor or a Slytherin, or even a Hufflepuff. You're going to be treated like dirt, and you're going to fail if you think that it's going to be just the same out there than it is here. Glory and fame in these imprisonment castle walls mean nothing. I strictly advise you and your morons to get back to reality, before you crash into it a bit too late."

And before Hermione could open her mouth to say a word, he had given her a scowl and stormed past her, wincing as she heard his door slam.

She was left, with his biting words still clawing at her heart and conscience, and his gray eyes hauntingly imprinted in her mind. She stared at where he had just stood, not blinking, breathing tightly with her teeth clenched. His words had stung her more than she would ever care to admit, because she saw it now. She knew it. It was true. His words had hurt her more than anything else and left a stinging scar, because it was the truth.