Fair and Tender Maidens

Hermione glided down the corridor. Yes, she was gliding. It was for practice, of course. You can’t just walk across a stage where you are about to sing. You must glide. Well, it worked for “Gracie Lou Freebush” in “Miss Congeniality.” Then again, she had a gun...

She was on her way to breakfast. She was armed with a wand in her hand. If anyone tried to stop her from getting to the Great Hall they would be hexed into next year.

She sat down beside Harry and grabbed the closest pancakes. She squirted the fat-free syrup onto them in large amounts. Before picking up her fork, she smiled devilishly.

“Hermione, are you okay?” asked Harry, watching her devour the pancakes at the speed of light.

“Fine,” she replied, wiping the syrup off her cheek. She smiled at him. “Much better now.”

Harry smiled back, his heart pounding.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she replied, reaching for the waffles. She began to cut up to waffles in perfect square shapes. She buttered them and added the syrup.

“Do you want some strawberries?” he asked softly, the small bowl of strawberries in his right hand.

“Oh yes! Thank you, Harry.” She spooned some strawberries onto her waffles. She set the bowl down and began to eat.

Harry could only watch in amazement.

Of course, he was not the only one.

There was one other, you see.

He was blonde.

He was tall.

Brooding.

A Slytherin.    

Am I forgetting anything?

Oh yes, he was pasty.

Draco Malfoy, the amazing, broody, pasty, tall, blonde ferret-thing. Now, cower in fear at the sound of his name!

Never mind..

He was watching the entire escapade from his spot between Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table. Pansy sat close by, chatting with Blaise and Millicent.

This was terribly un-Hermione-like, he concluded. Hermione was not an eater! Not like this at least. Sure she ate, but not like that! Well, she never did it when he was watching. Not that he watched often. Back to the situation.

He couldn’t see how she could fit all that food in her petit frame. It was...wrong. She was too..well, graceful and dainty to be eating like that. None of the girls he knew ate like that, with the except of Blaise, but that was a completely different story.    

Well, Hermione wasn’t exactly like other girls. That was why he missed working with her. He missed their debates about History of Magic after practices. Intellectual stimulation, he kept telling himself. He missed the way she cracked her knuckles when she was nervous or thinking hard. He had tried to get her to stop, but he found it to cute and gave up. Not to mention the fact that it was nearly impossible to get her to stop.

He continued to watch her as she downed French toast, an apple, and three slices of toast. But soon his chance to watch her without anyone noticing was coming to an end. Potter was escorting her to her next class.

He might as well wear a sign, Draco thought moodily. It’s obvious enough.

The blonde Slytherin stood up and performed his trademark walk over to where the “Dynamic Duo” stood, digging through Hermione’s bag looking for her “lucky” quill.

By this time, they were in a mostly deserted corridor. The perfect place for insulting.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Hogwarts most famous couple,” he sneered. “Out for a morning walk around the rest of us common people?”

Potter blushed slightly, but performed his trademark defiant stance.

Gra–Hermione glared at him.

“Malfoy, why don’t you put your mouth where your arse is so that we don’t have to hear it?” Potter retorted icily.

Icily? Wow, Potter, have you been practicing in front of a mirror?

“Well, I would, except that I much prefer it where it is. I mean, how else am I going to kiss all the pretty girls that come to me in the night? Isn’t that right, Her–Granger?”

Draco could feel the heat radiating off of her face. Her eye began to twitch. She looked like she was having a seizure, Draco concluded, beginning to wonder which body part was going to be injured this time.

He didn’t have to wait long.

****

He had to conclude that it hurt a lot more this time than the last. Apparently, the bookworm had been lifting weights ever since 4th year or so just to prepare for hitting him again. He had to admit she was pretty good at hit.

At this rate, he was going to have to eat breakfast all over again.

He pushed himself off the cold floor. Leaning up against the wall, he checked his body for any serious injuries. Apart from his pride and stomach, he was fine.

He’d better find a good excuse to give McGonagall for being late..