Not In Kansas Anymore

Chapter Sixteen: Oscar Strikes Again

"Will Dumbdlore let us date?"

Chuckling Draco reached over and pulled Hermione to him, kissing the tip of her nose. "Of course, he'll understand."

"Really?"

Draco looked at her sideways; "Do we really need all these books?"

Abashed Hermione blustered, "Of course, they're like family."

Choosing not to argue Draco loaded the crates of books in the fire, banishing them each with an exasperated call of, "Hogwarts!" Looking over the foyer he checked all the corners for any remaining boxes and bags making mad escape attempts. "Is that everything?" he asked Hermione. She didn't answer so he called out gently, "Hermione?"

"Oof!" She did a graceful swan dive into the banister. "Nope, I found a few more books I needed."

"Did it occur to you to leave some of your books at Hogwarts?"

Puzzled Hermione told him, "But I did leave all my books at Hogwarts, save a few."

"This is a few?" he criticized, raising an eyebrow.

Shaking her head Hermione sent her last batch of books away; "No silly, most of these are yours." Quickly Hermione sidestepped into the fire and followed her precious books.

She stepped out of the fireplace in her room at Hogwarts, but there were some definite changes since her last visit. A king size bed predominated the left-hand wall, there was a mirror hanging above a second desk, and there was a quite ornately done wardrobe next to her dull one. Happily Hermione clapped her hands and her books began to organize themselves on the shelves meticulously.

*

"Like it?" Hermione asked. "No Ron, I believe the term you're looking for is 'Will you marry me?'.

"Will you marry me then?" rephrased Ron. Hermione pursed her lips and Ron changed the expression on his face, straightening up his back, looking longingly at Hermione. "Hermione, love, will you marry me, Ron Weasley? The boy who infuriated you, has bad grammar, and doesn't know how to purpose, having never done it before."

For a split second Ron was worried Hermione wasn't going to answer him, but she managed to choke out the word, "Yes."

Pressing the engagement ring over her knuckle Ron whispered, "This was my grandmother's." He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her and trying to calm to banging sobs that he assumed racked her in joy.

You should never assume.

*

"This is fabulous Draco," sighed Hermione happily, spinning on to the mattress.

Bewildered Draco leaned against the bedpost. "I had nothing to do with this."

"Dumbdlore must be promoting inner-house unity still," concluded Hermione, tugging Draco down next to her.

"How about we promote some of our own?" he asked sexily, kissing her passionately.

"Will I get points?" responded Hermione suggestively.

Draco slid her down on the mattress. "Why do you ask?"

*

"Because I want to know why we're doing this," replied Draco, pulling away from Hermione. "You're Hermione Granger, you're not even sixteen yet, and you're a virgin."

She turned away from him in the blue light falling in from the night sky and streetlights on the plaza outside headquarters. Rubbing her upper arms she looked over her shoulder, hating any quality that made her honest. "Because I don't want Ron to be my first."

"And there won't be a repercussion to a non-existent friendship if its me," summed Draco. Biting her bottom lip Hermione nodded guiltily. "Do you think you're ready for this, Granger?" he ventured.

Kissing Draco effectively quieted him. "My name is Hermione."

"And I'm Draco," he introduced himself, and to make an impression he nibbled her bottom lip.

"For tonight."

*

Glowing slightly Hermione pulled her jeans back on and a rugby t-shirt from her childhood that still fit her small, but not diminished, form. "I don't understand the appeal of rugby," commented Draco, reading the words sprawled over her chest. "Why would you want to wear unflattering horizontal strips, and then ruin your hideous shirt in mud while you're felt up by perfectly straight men. Where lies the fun in that?"

"In the mud?" questioned Hermione."

Sarcastically Draco retorted, "No, the straight men."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?" questioned Draco, opening the door for Hermione, so they could walk down to the staff meeting and dinner.

"Its gross, and I don't fancy the images."

"You mean the disturbing image of me in a tacky salmon pink and sherbet green horizontally striped rugby shirt with white shorts that show off my too-pale kneecaps?"

"That is a sickening image," called a voice from down the hall.

Hermione and Draco turned around to see a tall, stocky man standing in the doorway of the staff room, his black hair clouding his face, but not his euphoric smile. "Blaise," called Draco, walking forward into an one-armed hug, something Hermione had never seen him do for anyone.

"Draco, mate, long time no see. Hermione," he nodded to her over Draco's shoulder.

Smiling still Draco gestured between the two of them; "You two know one another?"

"Yeah," breathed Hermione, embracing Blaise around the middle.

*

"You still know Draco after all these years?"

Hermione chided him, saying, "It hasn't been that long, we haven't even had our ten-year yet."

"To a historian every two years feel like a decade. You should know, you made events in 1997-8 difficult to record," he berated.

"How so?" mused Hermione, snuggling closer on the couch next to him, the fire twinkling innocently as it died, eating its self away.

Blaise ruffled her hair, saying playfully, "There are more headlines with your name in them than there are with Voldemort's."

"Only gossip columns," she sighed, not liking where this was going.

"You don't appreciate your publicity?" he asked mockingly.

Squinting a glare at him Hermione punched his arm. "No, I don't."

Blaise answered professionally, unintentionally flattering the breath out of her. "Everything you touch is history in the making."

"Does that include you?"

*

"So you're the replacement for Binns?" asked Draco, settling in a seat at the table down the middle of the staff room next to Hermione, across from Blaise.

He nodded. "Did a first year really exorcise him. How?"

Draco laughed coldly, Hermione elbowed him. "Its not funny Draco."

Wheezing Draco corrected Hermione. "Oh yes it is. Any time a Gryffindor manages to exorcise a ghost whilst attempting to resurrect his pet bunny is hysterical. "

"Rabbit?" echoed Blaise.

"Its horrible, he must have loved that bunny," criticized Hermione.

*

Sighing Hermione moved her quill around on the paper distractedly making scribbles that didn't mean anything. She was alone in the library, where else? Stacks upon stacks of books hid her from the world like metaphysical walls. Books for Buckbeak's defense, the transfiguration she only had three roles on, a thesis for Snape that needed a good edit so he couldn't take off any more points for being long-winded, and a romance novel of Parvati's she really shouldn't be reading.

It didn't really matter if she read the book or not, it had the same plot as the other ten million that clogged the shelves in their dorm, but she hoped if she read it Parvati and Lavender might speak to her again. Ron was right, her mouth was too big, but Ron wasn't actually speaking to her anymore either. Hermione hated apologizing, especially since this wasn't her fault, she hadn't laid a hand on that stupid rat! And the bunny had been dead when Lavender got the letter.

Maybe she should just apologize to Lavender, that would be one ally.

*

The parchment make a slapping noise as it slapped down on her desk, red pen marks intervening into all the quill marks. "Mr. Weasley? How much of the text did you actually read this summer? Making a long-winded thesis is no way to procure a good grade because while some teachers will not read the crap in its entirety, I will and I will mark accordingly."

"But a 'P' miss?" complained her student earnestly.

Nodding her head Hermione confirmed, " A 'P' for poor, pathetic performance on paper pupil should have produced proficiency in passing presentation."

"Yes miss," murmured Weasley, backing out of the room with his eyes cast down.

Applause echoed from the doorway, startled Hermione looked up to see Blaise grinning broadly. "Quite a tongue twister."

Blushing faintly Hermione asked, "You don't think I was too hard on him?"

Arching an eyebrow Blaise replied, "Too harsh on Weasley? Never."

Hermione stood up and began compulsively stacking papers and putting quills in the cracked potion vial on the corner of her desk. "How's he in your class?"

"Bit like Draco."

"Don't insult my boyfriend," said Hermione playfully, pushing him in the shoulder lightly as she maneuvered around him to collect the books on the desks.

Teasingly Blaise snickered good-naturedly, "Boyfriend? That serious, we're now past romps on the beach with near strangers?"

Pretending offense Hermione gasped mockingly. "That was a one time thing." Her face fell serious and she strode back across the classroom, her arms laden with heavy books of Latin tessellations. Blowing her hair out of her face she solemnly said, "I've never thanked you for that."

Blaise tilted his head. "We're even, square, you did just as much for me."

"Well then," Hermione quickly pecked him on the cheek. She heaved her books on to their appropriate shelf. "To dinner?" Blaise held the door open and Hermione walked out, footsteps echoing near the end of the hall also in the direction of wafting food scents.

*

"Why do Muggles insist that all heroes have to wear obscene amounts of leather in order to save the world?" asked Draco.

Laughing Hermione squeezed his arm. "It was a movie, he was supposed to look hot."

Draco stopped fast and looked at her bemusedly. "Hot? No, he was not me, not me at all."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "No, he wasn't you. He was better."

"Hey! That hurt!" he called after her as she jogged up the street, her breath misting over the sky.

"Not enough, there will still be barely enough room for the three of us at dinner," she replied, stopping at the street to wait for him.

Draco had to pause and count in his head. "Three?"

"You, me, and your ego."

Punching her lightly on the arm Draco said, "Funny, very funny. To dinner."

*

Hermione slammed the window shut, nearly snapping the black curtains under it. Her teeth chattered, and as she climbed back into bed next to Draco she fully expected him to pull her close to him and make her warm and snuggly. It didn't happen quite that way.

Instead Draco rolled over, his back toward her, breathing returning to shallow almost instantly. Disgruntled Hermione yanked some of the blankets back over her shell, muttering to herself, "He's not asleep, not horny, not speaking at all, he's mad. Only answer."

" I heard that," came the reply, grumbled distinctly.

"We're both asleep."

Draco rolled over, looking upward, his slit open eyes barely visible. "At least its not on a beach with a stranger, this mattress it so much more comfortable than sand."

Hermione: "Pardon?"

"Oh nothing, just a mere rumor. Unless of course its true," he chided, trying to keep his eyes focused skyward.

Hermione: speechless.

"So it happened then? Its true?" asked Draco to, of course, the canopy. "Lord and I..."

Brows knitting together Hermione finished that hanging sentence. "...And I was really on a beach in Southern France screwing Blaise Zabini even though I only actually knew his name and that I hated Harry."

"Damn."

Hermione waved her hands in the air, slapping it softly. "Damn what? Damn you...damnit, finish all of the sentences you begin."

Draco choked out an answer as he turned over to face Hermione, "No, I just didn't think you'd tell me to my face."

Shrugging Hermione flipped on to her stomach to face him too. "I didn't tell you to your face. I spoke solely to ceiling." For a moment Hermione traced the inlay of the headboard before speaking again, "You didn't think I'd tell you though?"

"You hadn't before now, you weren't going to were you?"

"No, I suppose not, but you never fessed up to having read The Importance of Being Earnest."

Cringing Draco rubbed at her hair. "You figured that out?"

Nodding Hermione answered quietly, "You quoted him once...or twice."

*

Hermione rolled over, unable to sleep, somehow nervous and anxious, and full of anxieties wasted in the moment. There was no reason to be so worried, they were just going back to Hogwarts, they were going home.

Sighing she slid out of bed, the gray carpet scratching at the pads of her feet as she took the sheet and wrapped it round her, the gown of starry night and blood red moon carpets.

Quietly, so as not to disturb Draco, she padded hazily over to the window, her foot knocking the empty bottle away so it rolled under the never used blue recliner. Her head buzzed a riot of bourbon induced visions, the earth mending and shattering and hemming and breaking again, and again, and again. And again for subtle change.

Soundlessly two broad arms tied themselves around her waist and a warm breathing filled her ears as she tried to see beyond the mundane navy slowly becoming golden bronze lace. "Nice toga," Draco commented just softly enough so she could hear, but quiet enough so as not to dice her brain in two.

"New fashion," she moaned in her gut, wincing when that flamed her mind again.

"Fashion is a form of ugliness so vulgar we must alter it every six months."

*

"Why did you read Wilde?" asked Hermione curiously.

Draco was silent for a good long moment before replying, "Cause I wanted to like whatever you did."

"You just wanted good comebacks."

Ever cocky Draco finally drew Hermione close to him and whispered, "I love you...did Wilde ever ask you to marry him?"

Hermione's body tensed under the sheets and she said no.