Dead But Not Delirious

"Somebody shoot me!" I moan, as I escape the train compartment on the Hogwarts Express, under the premise of a trip to the restroom.

Harry, Ron, and me. Sitting in a space that couldn't be more than five feet by five feet. Well, probably more, I don't know, I'm no carpenter, whatever. But, come on, can you say "sexual tension"? Well, I can. Sexual tension.

It has been like Chinese water torture. Or maybe Chinese boy torture. Take your pick. Ron keeps looking at me out of the corner of his eyes, and, I'm sorry, but I'm not the kind of girl who *likes* it when guys undress them with their eyes. And RON?! That's SO wrong on SO many levels that I can't even.........yecch.

And Harry.........I'm having my doubts about the platon.........platonic.........*platonicness* of our relationship. I mean, I love the guy like he's my hot brother or something! But his eyes looked a little.........er.........*insect-like* when he saw me step into the compartment for the first time.

Then again, that's probably partially my fault. Maybe wearing my favorite v-necked green tank top and denim miniskirt wasn't the *wisest* idea I've ever had, especially when I *knew* in advance that I'd be spending half a dozen hours cooped up in a closet-sized room with two hormonally-charged sixteen-year-old boys. Best friendship really isn't an effective barrier to keep a guy's blood from getting to his groin. Yikes.

But the air in the hallway outside the room feels cool on my face. Dammit, I'm blushing. I hurry down the corridor and peek my head into the bathroom. Checking my reflection, I realize, to my utmost dismay, that I look like I've just run a marathon and then proceeded to take a few hundred victory laps. Peachy.

"Since when does Granger check herself in the mirror?" comes that voice, urgh, THAT VOICE, from behind me. It's one of those things. His voice runs over me like, well, how to put it.........like someone's thrown a Slushee in my face. A blue raspberry one.

I spin around, ready to go into full-on bitch mode. Hey, don't blame me, blame him, I'm NOT responsible for my actions when it's HIM.

"Malfoy, why don't you go find someone else's existence to plague?" I spit, narrowing my eyes at the irritatingly handsome Slytherin. He gives me one of his trademark "I am *such* a god" smirks, appraising me coolly with those hard silver-blue eyes of his.

"Why? You don't want to chat?" he answers innocently, cocking a blond eyebrow. I want to gag, really I do. And I don't like gagging, if that tells you anything.

I roll my eyes, making sure to do it twice in case he missed it the first time. Wouldn't want that to happen. "Oh, dear Lord. If I wanted to chat with you, I would have fallen at your feet by now," I reply haughtily. I know, I know. Not one of my best comebacks. So sue me.

But it probably doesn't help matters that, as I turn to leave and go back into the hormonal minefield that is Harry and Ron's compartment, I lose control of my ridiculous high-heeled sandals. You guessed it; I fall at his feet.

Damn it, mum, why'd you make me wear these? I make sure nothing's broken (my heel, my knee, my face.........) and look up at Malfoy from my extremely undignified position. I rise to my knees, as Malfoy proceeds to come quite close to wetting himself with laughter.

I kneel there for another moment, until the thought that anyone who came bursting out into the hallway at that time may think I was preparing to give Malfoy head or something causes me to jump to my feet.

"No, go back down, you think you're done or something?" Malfoy orders in amusement. A hot surge of anger rushes through me. How dare he!

"You're right. I'm NOT done," I say, like, Oh, silly me! Before I can stop myself, I've given him one bloody HELL of a smack across his arrogant, smirking, good-for-nothing face.

He staggers backwards for a split second, his eyes registering true shock. A red handprint shows quite nicely on his pale skin. I want to tell him he looks good in red, but that would be weird. Yeah. So I don't say it.

"*Now* I'm done," I state coolly, desperately trying to hold in a giggle. Lucky for me, I don't have to try much longer. The desire to laugh is quickly quenched when Malfoy grabs my wrist.

"Filthy Mudblood whore," he snarls, such utter hatred filling his eyes that a small gasp escapes my lips. He twists my arm behind my back. The pain shoots through me like fire.

"Let go of me!" I hiss, fighting to contain the tears that threaten to spring forth. But, suddenly, I realize that Draco's attention has drifted elsewhere.

This allows me to slip my arm out of his vise-like grip. It's now that I notice. His eyes are riveted to a place on my body that is.........well, between my collarbone and my belly button. Give up? OH, come on, isn't it *obvious*? Yes, it was my--

"Nice rack, wench," Malfoy smirks, eyes flicking up to meet my shocked gaze. Let me tell you, looking into those icy blue eyes is like.........well, um.........*ice*. All over your body. You freeze. And that's just how he wants it. And that's just what happens.

But the ice sorta MELTS when his eyes go back to THERE. I just can't take it anymore. Rather than talk (and perhaps have him focus on my *teeth* or something, dear GOD), I bring my shoe (in particular, the rather pointy heel portion) quite forcefully down on his foot (Thank you MUM!)

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!" he screams, grabbing his injured foot. His reaction makes me *almost* wish I'd kneed him.........er.........where it hurts, because he's so amazingly *sensitive*.........or pansy, take your pick. But then again, the day I WANT any part of my body to touch his.........erm, *area*.........is the day I bring out the razor blades and shut myself in the bathroom. And I hate razor blades. If that helps you figure out how much I hate this guy.

"Oh, dear! How very *clumsy* of me!" I exclaim without the slightest ounce of remorse, and I'm quite sure he's picked up on that fact, because as I turn around and open the door to the compartment, he yells, quite rudely, actually, "FUCK YOU, GRANGER!!"

I shut the door quickly behind me, hoping Harry and Ron will think that Malfoy is yelling at some random person who shares my last name.........I hate it when they interrogate me. Urgh.

But I'm really in no danger of that. My reappearance in the little room, along with my, ahem, *assets*, seems to have erased Malfoy's passionate scream completely from their minds. My theory is proven when Ron comments dimly, "Long bathroom break."

I nod and sit down next to Harry, facing the window. Hmm, THIS particular situation is almost worse than the one I just left. And, let me tell you, I truly never thought the day would come when I would prefer the company of DRACO "You want to blow me, don't you?" MALFOY to that of my two best friends. But, alas, it has. Well, almost. I certainly prefer Ron's slightly crossed eyes raking over my body than Malfoy's, that's for sure. At least Ron's don't ice me over like a nap in a meat freezer.

When Harry finally realizes that I'm sitting next to him (up until this point, he's been exerting some semblance of self-control and has been reading the card that he'd gotten in one of his Chocolate Frogs. This would've been fine if it hadn't been Dumbledore, but I know he knows that particular card by heart, so I wasn't convinced anyway. Duh.), he gives me this grin, that, in a Muggle Western, would be accompanied by some utterly swoon-into-your-arms romantic line like "Gee, ma'am, ain't you purdy!" I smile weakly in return, picturing Harry in chaps and a ten-gallon hat. Oh, dear God, NO.

Why subject myself to further ogling by my two best friends in the whole world? It's now that I turn and stare out the window, longing for Hogwarts to materialize so I can ESCAPE.

Then, like the voice of God, except sort of creaky and Filch-like, the driver of the train informs us through some sort of magical public-address system that we'll be arriving at Hogsmeade Station in ten minutes.

First I want to do a jig. An Irish one. With fiddle music. But then I discard that idea for another. I decide I should run up to the driver, wherever he is, and kiss him passionately, while shouting "Thank you, oh Jesus, THANK YOU! May God bless you and your kin!", but I figure that might cause me to contract herpes or something, and plus, the guy is OLD. And also, the men in white lab coats would come. No thanks, I'll pass on the sedative, Doctor.

"We should change into our robes," I suggest without thinking. Whoopsie. Score one for Hermione. Ron and Harry look at me, then at each other, and, by their expressions, one less informed than I would deduce that I have just suggested we engage in three-way sex. Which, I guess, in essence, I have. At least in the twisted minds of two horny teenage boys. Aforementioned sex will probably happen tonight in their dreams. Oh, Christ, don't even GO there, Granger. I don't want to know.

"You--you're going to change.........*in here*?" Ron croaks, in the same voice he would use to ask, "You--you're going to strip for us?" Whoopsie, I kinda am. Guess so, Ronnie. Dear God.

My mind, which comes up with some pretty evil and wicked things when it really tries, and hell is it trying, makes me nod. "Why not? We're practically FAMILY!" I answer with a fakey little laugh. Why did I just think "Lavender!" when I laughed like that? Please, no!

But I don't stop there, even when I really should, judging by the horrified looks on both Ron and Harry's faces. "I mean, if they tested our DNA, we'd probably find out that we really ARE!" I go on. I immediately feel bad, but I'm not ABOUT to do a Memory Charm just to make them forget how dumb I can be. Well, maybe some day. One at a time. Not both at once.

Ron looks completely and utterly stricken. Harry looks like.........well, sort of like I just hauled off and slugged him. Which is probably the physical equivalent of what I've said. Oops. Sorry, guys, blame the brain.

I use their silence as a chance to get started changing and get the whole damn ordeal done. "Shouldn't you.........turn around or something?" Harry finally proposes in this unusually high voice that suggests he really does *not* want me to do so.

Oh, why not give them a little more fuel for their nasty little fantasies? And yet, I know I'll regret this. "Nah, it's nothing you guys haven't seen a dozen times before!" Which is not exactly true. Little white lie. Oh, well. Yeah, I'd definitely moved from an A-cup to a B-cup. Hmm, d'ya think anyone'll notice?

I pull my top off, to reveal my wondrously enhancing black push-up bra. Dammit, WHY'D I wear the lacy one? WHYYY?? Ron gives a muffled "Eep" sort of sound and falls over. Harry looks like a strong wind would knock him over as well. Men are so easily manipulated. Dear God.

I decide to end the torture before Ron and Harry DIE or something, and pull on my uniform blouse and sweater-vest. I figure I should save those boys from any more agony by turning around to change into my skirt.

When I face them again, they are just finishing putting on their robes. Ron DOES look a little pale, though. Poor guy. I sit down again, feeling really tired, but, like clockwork, the second I sit down, that same scratchy, unpleasant voice informs us that we've reached Hogsmeade Station.

I can't get out of that stuffy hell of a compartment fast enough. I'm so excited at the prospect of wide, open, hormonally neutral spaces that my fingers fumble with the door latch. How freaking THICK can I be? Quite, as it turns out. Still working on that latch.

Suddenly, two large hands close over mine. Shit. Ron's voice from behind me. "No, no, you're doing it wrong. You have to *thrust* the bolt very *hard*, or it won't open," he instructs me smoothly. Or so he thinks. Sweet Mother of God. I can feel him less than an inch behind me, and closing in fast.

"GOT IT!!" I yell in a Praise-Jesus sort of way, finally shoving the lock open, and flinging myself out of the door in one frenzied motion. I must admit, I'm sure I look like a madwoman, one moment unable to slide open a bolt, the next, diving out into the hallway as though I'm in one of those action flicks where the bomb's going off right behind me. Ron's the bomb.

Unfortunately, I seem to have landed on a PERSON during my daring escape.

"Get the HELL off me, Granger, are you out of your Mudblood mind?" Malfoy fumes from underneath me. Shit on toast. I scramble off him, not wishing to prolong any unnecessary contact, thank you VERY much.

He stands up and glares down at me furiously with those ice-chip eyes. For once in my life, words won't come.

"God, Hermi, you flew out that door like a bat outta hell!" Ron states in amazement as he and Harry step over me into the hallway.

Harry seems to notice first that I am sprawled across the floor, and Malfoy's standing over me, looking murderous. He puts two and two together and realizes that I'm not exactly in a happy sunbeam of a situation here. Way to go, Harry.

"Problem, Malfoy?" he growls, and even from my disadvantaged position on the ground, I can see his fists clenching tightly. Woohoo, he's going to fight for me. Should I be waving a pennant or something?

"Not much, Potter.........Granger just sort of *threw* herself at me," Malfoy says with a satisfied smirk. Oh, this is too much. If it were any other girl than ME, I would sit back with a mega-tub of popcorn and watch the show. But, dammit, it IS me!

I get to my feet so fast that the altitude change makes me dizzy. Or maybe just this whiff of weird cologne I get as soon as I stand. Well, not weird, really. Sort of.........musky and.........okay, I'll admit it. Hot. Which is why, of course, it irks me greatly when I figure out that the scent is emanating from the Slytherin everyone loves to hate. Oh, goody, that makes absolutely NO SENSE!!!

Anyway, I shake off the slight daze I'm in and spit out the first words that come to mind. "If I ever throw myself at you, I will then throw myself into the fucking LAKE!!" I snarl. Whoa. That retort sucked, too. What's with me today, anyway? Christ.

"How about you do that in reverse order?" he suggests with a sneer. I've had it, honestly. I mean, I'd had it before, but now I've REALLY had it!

"DO *THIS* IN REVERSE ORDER!" I scream, before shoving my knee as hard as I can into Malfoy's crotch. Ooh, that felt good. NO! NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING! It felt good because I've wanted to do that for FOR-FREAKING-EVER!! YEAH!

Malfoy doubles over, his hands clutching his damaged goods. "Whoopsie! Just me being *clumsy* again!" I say sweetly, throwing in an air-headed giggle for good measure.

"You better run, Granger," Malfoy wheezes, his eyes glinting with that weird snowy coldness. Um, creepy much? Yeah, I think I better take him up on that offer.

"Come on, guys!" I say in a strained cheerful voice, grabbing Harry and Ron by the sleeve and tugging them both off the train with me. Wow. This year is starting out great. Is it June yet?