Dead But Not Delirious

"So, you guys see the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Harry asks thickly, through a mouthful of roast beef. Guys can be so un-mannered. Honestly. Here comes Mother Granger mode.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I instruct before I can stop myself. Ugh, I sound like somebody's 60-year-old grandmother. Actually, hmm... not a bad idea... maybe it will discourage any nice little *fantasies* by the male two-thirds of our trio.

Then again, both Harry and Ron are treating me somewhat normally. Due to the layers of clothing now covering them, the boys seem to have forgotten that my breasts exist. Which is FINE by me.

"Yes, mother," Harry replies predictably. Predictably. How quaint. I wonder if he *knows* that I knew he'd say that. Hmm. Probably.

"I've heard that he... or she... isn't arriving until tomorrow morning," Ron informs us. Like I care. Both Ron and Harry know that all I care about right now is the announcement of Head Boy and Girl, which will directly follow dinner. At least, they SHOULD know. Ugh, I can't stand it!! The suspense is killing me.

I'm eyeing my food distrustfully. I'm really NOT hungry. How CAN I eat, anyway? When I'm waiting, positively peeing my pants in anticipation for when Dumbledore will stand up, like he's doing now, and--oh.

"Students!" he shouts, and it only takes that one word to bring the Great Hall to a quiet level of noise quite resembling bated-breath silence.

"As you know, we must now announce this year's Head Boy and Head Girl..." Oh, God. My stomach is having some sort of break-dancing party or something. Good thing I passed on the lima beans.

"So, without further ado... this year, Head Girl is Hermione Granger, and Head Boy is Draco Malfoy."

WHAT?! WHAT THE HELL DID HE JUST SAY?! I only enjoy my own success for a half a second before cold shock washes over me, rooting me to the spot.

I think I will sit here forever. Hermione who? I don't know a Hermione Granger. And she's most certainly NOT me.

Malfoy is Head Boy. The laws of the universe have been reversed. Up is now down. I expect to fall up to the ceiling any second now.

"Hermi, he wants you to go to the front table," Harry informs me, breaking into my personal evaluation of physics with a nudge of his elbow.

I can't speak. I can't move. My nerves are jangling like high-voltage wire.

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore calls. He is standing at the front of the Hall, flanked on his left by that living proof of de-evolution, Malfoy, and gazing expectantly at me.

I somehow force a feeble smile as I walk robotically up to them. I'm serious, I feel like the Tin Man. Or the Tin Woman. Oil me up and watch me go. Real life-like action. Batteries not included.

When I finally reach the headmaster and Malfoy (the trek from the Gryffindor table takes roughly three years), Dumbledore gives me a congratulatory handshake that I weakly return.

Malfoy offers his hand to do the same. Um. I stand there like an idiot. Malfoy doesn't have a chivalrous bone in his body. He wouldn't know chivalry if it bit his nose off and spat it back in his face. So why is he going to shake my hand? *Especially* after I had wreaked such HAVOC on his reproductive organs.

His eyes shine with a freezing steely gleam. Ah, yes. Not to worry. He still hates me. What a relief.

I finally shake his hand, and fight to prevent showing any sign of pain or surprise when he seems to try to break my fingers in an iron grip.

I take a calming breath, then have to bite my lip to contain a frustrated scream. Some sort of deep musky aroma is rinsing over me... DAMN that cologne!

Mercifully, before I can get too lightheaded from the scent, Malfoy lets go and steps back. I massage my hand, trying not to look too obvious. God only knows I don't want him to think he HURT me or something. Christ. I look at my hand and stifle a groan. That's DEFINITELY going to bruise.

Dumbledore claps a hand on both my and Malfoy's shoulders, and we are forced to turn and face our fellow students. Ugh. Hide me. I am so incredibly numb (except for my hand; DAMN YOU, DRACO MALFOY!) that I have not even noticed that the Hall is resonating deafeningly with loud, appreciative applause. I manage a fake beauty-pageant-winner smile, and suffer my way through Dumbledore listing all of our achievements.

Oh, goody. This is so much fun that I think I'll die. No, really. It would be a blessing. Not to mention the fact that, as the headmaster is now informing the masses, we will share our very own dormitory. Heaven help me. Why do I feel like I've just been sentenced to a fate worse than death?

* * *

"Ow! What the hell did you do that for?" Malfoy snarls angrily. Oops, I "accidentally" bumped my trunk into the back of his knee. Clumsy me.

"Sorry, Draco," I simper, taking a new tactic. Maybe if I call him "Draco", he'll become SO disgusted with me that he won't even come NEAR me! Oh, how sad. I'd cry. Not.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT, MUDBLOOD!" he yells, turning around to assault me with a look of death... and a waft of cologne. Hmm. Maybe I can play this to my advantage.

I pinch my nose delicately between my thumb and forefinger. "Whew! What'd you do, *bathe* in your 'Eau de Dead Hippogriff'?" I exclaim in false repulsion. I wave my hand in front of my nose for emphasis, and even let out a tiny choking cough.

His eyes flash dangerously. "I don't WEAR cologne, Granger," he sneers, but I notice the tiniest tinge of pink showing in his pale cheeks. I was right. Advantage, Hermione. I win.

BUT WAIT JUST ONE COTTON-PICKING MINUTE! If that ISN'T cologne... is he giving off PHEROMONES that are making my knees feel slightly weak? I sure as hell HOPE NOT! But, then again, he was blushing... or doing whatever Malfoys do *instead* of blushing. Maybe he was lying. Oh, God, I hope so.

"Whatever," I say airily, as I breeze past him, giving him a good knock in the shins with my trunk. Whoopsie. I hope that hurt, ferret-boy.

I peek around the corner, checking out my bedroom. Oh, how cute. It's all red and gold. I kid you not. Red and gold area rugs covering the gleaming hardwood floor. Red and gold tapestries hanging on the stone walls. Red drapes on the windows, with golden ropes holding them open. Red bedspread with gold fringe and an embroidered lion. Heavy, red velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling. I walk over to the bed and touch the draperies surrounding it. They feel richer than those around my four-poster in the girls dormitory.

I glance around warily. Oh, what the hey. I hop up on the bed. Ooooh. It feels like a cloud. I mean, obviously a thick one, but a cloud all the same. Hmm. Still nobody looking. I stand up and give a little leap.

YES, OH YES!! I give up all pretense and jump high up in the air, bouncing happily off the mattress like I'm reliving my entire childhood. This is fun. Whee! I'm a bird! No, I'm a plane! No, I'm HEAD GIRL!

"I see you are approving of the furnishings, Miss Granger?" comes the extremely amused voice of Dumbledore from the doorway. I stop jumping.

"Oh, yes, q-quite," I stutter, stepping down from the bed immediately. How embarrassing. I can see the headlines. Head Girls Indulges in Childish Past-time. That's me. No autographs, please.

"Oh, no, don't stop on my account, Miss Granger," he laughs, his light blue eyes twinkling. "I simply wanted to ask you if the room is to your liking."

I look around. Oh, hell yes. This room is twice as big as the entire girl's dormitory, and it's ALL MINE!

"It's great," I exclaim happily, spinning around to take in my magnificent surroundings. I feel like a dork, but I can't help but be enthusiastic that I'll be living in a room that seems half the size of the Great Hall.

"Good. Mr. Malfoy is waiting in the common room. I need to set down some ground rules," Dumbledore tells me, beckoning for me to follow him out of my glorious living quarters.

The living room is quite nice, I must say. It has a large fireplace, in which a fire is crackling merrily, two well-sized couches facing one another, and two armchairs.

Hmm. This area appears to be neutral. I look down the hallway to Malfoy's bedroom, the door to which is hanging wide open, and am greeted by an onslaught of green and silver. Oh, I'm sure he'll love basking in that evil Slytherin atmosphere every night. Lord.

"Just a few basic rules you both need to know," the headmaster begins. I perch gingerly at the opposite end of the couch as Malfoy. Urgh. I really don't like the look he's giving me. Yeah, don't worry, bucko, I hate you, too. You and your aura of pheromones. Yecch.

"You will, like the other students, be confined to your dormitory at night. However, I believe that if you look behind the portrait of the old maid in Mr. Malfoy's bedroom, you will be delighted," Dumbledore grins at us, as though we should have any clue what the hell he's going on about.

"Don't even think about it, Granger," Malfoy hisses at me out of the corner of his sneering little mouth.

"Like I want to go into your *bedroom*?" I scoff, and I add in a contemptuous "Ha!" for good measure.

Malfoy rolls those frosty eyes at me. "You wouldn't be the first," he states with a pompous smirk. Somehow I don't doubt that. But that's beside the point. The point is that this.........this human ice cube in front of me thinks I want to go to bed with him. WHAT a loser. Dumb as a dead cat.

It's now that I notice that Dumbledore hasn't spoken since Malfoy first talked to me. Oops. My bad. Er, no, wait, *Malfoy's* bad.

"May I continue?" Dumbledore inquires good-naturedly, peering at the both of us over his teeny little glasses. Sure, go right on ahead, Prof.

"Also, please try not to kill each other. That's all I really have to say. Pleasant dreams." Dumbledore turns to leave, but stops. "I almost forgot. Here are your class schedules. Sleep well." I take the slip of parchment from his hand, and look over it. When I lift my gaze from the paper, Dumbledore is gone.

"I want to see what the HELL he was talking about with the painting of the old maid," Malfoy announces, spinning around and flouncing back into his room. Like I'm just gonna stand there? Are you on crack?

"Not without ME you're not!" I declare, hurrying after him and ignoring the evil glare he gives me. Oops. Didn't I just say that I wouldn't ever want to go into his room, or something like that? Well, too late now. Onward!

When I enter his bedroom, I realize that I was right. Blindingly, achingly green. Everything. Red is *so* much prettier.

We step up to the painting. "Hmm, he said to look behind it... so we should lift it up or something," I muse aloud.

Malfoy snorts. "No shit, Sherlock."

The nerve of that guy! I grab his collar and haul him around to face me. "Listen, dipshit. We're not going to be able to kill each other, all right?" I'm about to say more, but the Ice Prince interrupts me.

"I don't know if I'd say THAT... if *I* were you, I wouldn't sleep. EVER," he smirks, eyes glinting like icicles. All right. I'll admit. That creeps me out. In a major way.

But I forget the tremor racing through me when the painting springs aside, revealing an opening in the wall. Huh?

"But... what'd we do?" a stunned Malfoy asks the elderly witch in the portrait. Yeah, I'm sort of wondering the same thing.

She grins at him, showing several gaps between her yellowed teeth. "Sleep, dearie. The password is 'sleep'. Now, don't you forget it, handsome."

I shudder. Ugh. A painting in Malfoy's bedroom is in love with him. Gross.

Shaking off that last thought, I turn to the passage that has appeared. "Well, should we?" I implore Malfoy, and we seem to temporarily lay aside our differences in the face of this new discovery. Go us. The first time's always the hardest, right? Whoa, that came out wrong. I meant diplomacy. Seriously.

He sighs. "Might as well." Whoa. Did DRACO MALFOY just AGREE with me?! Life is strange.

And we crawl into the dark, damp hole, unaware of what we'll find. This isn't creepy. Not at all. Shiver. You know, this would be the perfect place for Malfoy to kill me and hide my body... OH GOD, BAD THOUGHTS! SOMEONE SAVE ME, I'M GOING TO *DIE*!!!!