Secretary

Part Three

Hermione

//I wouldn't know what to do with another chance if you gave it to me. I couldn't take the embrace of a real romance, it'd race right through me.//

That arrogant prick! Not that I was expecting anything different, but just the idea that I couldn't talk back to him made it ten times worse. Snape must really hate me. I can't believe that Malfoy, of all people, gets a say in my marks. Knowing him, he'll fail me. Bastard.

Moreover, what the hell was with those questions? Do you have any pets? Do you live with your parents? Flat or house?

What drugs is he on, and can I have some?

This was going to be difficult. Though I was a rather talented smart-ass, when I was trying to control the urge to hex Malfoy, my comments didn't sting quite as much as I would have liked.

I trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower, desperate to go do some homework to take my mind of Malfoy. Instead, I was met by the concerned faces of Harry and Ron. I should have known it was coming. They may have left me alone for the past few days, but that didn't mean that we weren't going to discuss it eventually.

Harry asked if we could talk in private. Reluctantly, I agreed. I wasn't exactly keen on having a heart-to-heart at the moment, but I knew this was a long time coming. We went up to my private room, to which I was entitled as Head Girl.

"Hermione," Harry began tentatively, "we don't want you to feel like you're being attacked or anything."

I smirked and retorted, "Harry, normally when one wants to convince someone that they're not attacking them, they don't tell them not to feel attacked. You simply don't attack."

"Yes, well," he drifted off nervously, "We need to talk to you."

"You already said that."

Ron frowned disapprovingly, "Hermione, listen. We have to talk about your... problem."

I rolled my eyes. This was just as painful as I suspected it would be. They were blithering on like idiots, avoiding the subject. "Yes, my... problem," I mocked and flashed them an expectant look. They were making it too easy for me to be a bitch.

"We're worried about you, Hermione. We don't understand why you're doing this..." Harry trailed off and he and Ron peered at me.

Bloody great. They were tiptoeing around the whole issue. That pissed me off. "I don't know why I do it." Was I lying? I didn't actually know. "And it's not as simple as 'whoops, you have a problem - stop.'"

Jesus Christ. Ron looked like he was going to cry. I softened my look slightly - but only slightly.

"Hermione," Harry continued tentatively, "We're not asking you to just stop. We just... wish that you would talk to us about this. You don't have to go it alone, we're here for you."

I sighed, huffily. "That's lovely Harry, Ron - really. I - I don't really want to talk about this now. I will when I ready, but that isn't now."

The two of them exchanged a look. "Alright, then," Ron finally spoke. "You know where we are if you need us."

They left. I threw myself down on the bed and pounded my fists against the mattress, digging my head into my pillow to muffle my screams. 'Frustrated' was hardly adequate to describe how I felt. First, Malfoy pissed me off royally at our study session, now Harry and Ron were preaching to me like they were my therapist or something. Why couldn't I just be left alone?

The next two weeks progressed at what seemed a snail's pace. Harry and Ron were barely speaking to me - they walked on eggshells when they were around me. Classes were, for the first time, quite overwhelming - I really was behind. Worst of all, I continued to meet with Malfoy that every Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Each time he was a complete ass and I refrained from snapping back at him. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Friday night the oddest thing happened. Ron asked me out on a date. And for some bizarre reason, I agreed to go. I wondered what it was that motivated Ron to suddenly starting talking to me again after a week and a half, but I didn't ask.

The next day was a Hogsmeade visit, so it was rather easy for us to slip away somewhere. I actually felt rather bad for him - I made him take me to a bookstore. It was partly because I wasn't too keen on having a sit down meal on him, where he could gaze at me adoringly and whisper sweet nothings.

I knew perfectly well that Ron had a crush on me, though I didn't return his feelings. Once upon a time I was interested, but at a point I realized that he was my bumbling best friend and not boyfriend material. Plus, quite frankly, I didn't find him even remotely sexually attractive. Was I leading him on by agreeing to go out with him? Yes. But I didn't care - I needed to go out with someone, try to feel something for someone.

Ron looked particularly dejected as we entered Flourish and Blotts, though he tried to cover his apprehension. He looked ready to be absolutely bored and miserable for the next few hours. I decided to teach Ron Weasley that spending time in a bookshop can be fun, a lot of fun, in fact.

I started by dragging him to the Self Help section. I hadn't yet browsed through the section in a Wizard shop before, but as Wizards usually adept when it came to expanding on what is normally hilarious in Muggle literature, I was sure we would be amused.

I picked the first book that caught my eye and held it up to Ron, reading off the title, "Letting Go: How to Say Goodbye to Your Rabid Beanbag Chair." He grinned and I returned his pleased expression with my own smile. "See, bookstores can be fun. There's always something to ridicule."

We both started browsing the shelves for more conversation fodder. I couldn't believe that anyone would *want* to read Potions, Spells and Lingere: Land the Wizard of Your Dreams, though maybe it was just disgustingly lude images of Professor Snape in a teddy that initiated that response. Ron turned to me, suddenly, holding up his find.

"Witches Who Love Their Wands Too Much," he waggled his eyebrows at me.

"Ugh, gross, Ron!"

His grin fell and was replaced by his own disgusted expression, "It's better than the other book in the set." He held up Wizards Who Love Their Wands Too Much. I sniggered. I could practically see all the bad mental images that Ron was wrestling with, as he nearly turned green.

He looked at me sheepishly. "Do you know anyone who...."

"Likes to stick their wand up their bum? No, I don't. However, it would explain why Malfoy is so damn anal retentive."

Ron broke into a grin. "That's better," I said. "I prefer you laughing as opposed to sick."

"Thanks, Herm," he blushed crimson, "could we, um, *not* hang out in the Self-Help section anymore? I'm afraid of what else we might find."

"Okay," I offered him my hand and we made our way towards the back corner of the store. Before we left the section, we did happen upon one more book that had Ron in stitches. I picked up Are You a Publicity Whore? and tried to find what Ron found so funny. Almost immediately I saw it - on the cover was picture of Gilderoy Lockhart.

I put the book back on the display and dragged him closer to our destination - the magazine rack. Ron cast me a skeptical look and I simply smiled at him slyly.

"And now, Ron Weasley, you can school me on the preferences of your sex."

His jaw dropped. It was kinda cute. Playing with him was fun; why hadn't I tried this before? I grabbed a copy of Charming! magazine, with which I was familiar after years of hearing Parvati and Lavender giggling over the sexually explicit tips and tricks. Flipping through the magazine's pages, I flashed Ron a coy look and licked my lips a bit.

You could have knocked him over with a feather. At last I found the perfect article: How to bewitch the wizards - a witch's how-to for flirting. I read Ron the title of the article and he rolled his eyes, though he couldn't seem to mask his obvious state of confusion and arousal.

"Number one," I read off in a slightly high-pitched, mocking voice, "when talking to your potential sweetie, maintain eye-contact and be sure you use his name often when addressing him. He'll be sure to know that he's the center or your attention, and he'll find it sexy the way you utter his name!"

I gazed up at him, "Well Ron, do you agree? Do men such as yourself, Ron, find it sexy when women utter your name?"

"I, uh, um..." he struggled.

I laughed gaily, "Number Two: drink your Butterbeer from the bottle. Men *love* a woman who can knock a few back, like one of the guys." I paused dramatically. "I don't know Ron, I've always found that guys tend to ignore a girl who drinks like one of the guys. Do you think so? Have you noticed how I suck my Butterbeer from the bottle?"

I was so bad. Let's just say it was a good thing that he was wearing his school cloak.

Draco

//My feelings swell and stretch, I see from greater heights. I understand what I am still too proud to mention - to you.//

I couldn't bloody believe it. Granger was standing there in Flourish and Blotts spouting double entendres at Weasley. She was giggling at him and having sex with him with her eyes like an idiot. I was disgusted. But I couldn't seem to tear myself away.

I peered at them from behind a particularly tall bookshelf. I couldn't see much of what Weasel was doing (why would I want to?), but I had a nice view of Granger acting like a little trollop.

"Laugh at his bad jokes, so he feels special," she read.

Ha! That *would* be rather appropriate for the Weasel. He couldn't make a woman laugh if his life depended on it. I was torn away from my thoughts as she giggled. For some reason, I found her laugh somewhat entrancing. It was light and airy, unlike anything I had ever heard out of her.

"Eat a popsicle/ice cream cone/banana in his presence. It will make him think of what it would be like for you to lick a particularly delectable part of his anatomy," she prattled on, licking her lips.

Weasley started shifting uncomfortably, and I could only imagine why. I, myself, was rather enthralled by her stunning performance. What the hell happened to Granger at that hospital?

And what the fuck was she doing wasting all this shit on Weasley? I thought she had better taste than that. This led me to the more important matter at hand: what the fuck was I doing thinking that Granger had taste?

I wanted to leave, but I couldn't will myself to do it. Instead, I stayed in my hiding place until the tart and her weasel left. I wondered if she was shagging him. Probably was. Heh! Maybe she wasn't in the hospital for Meningitis after all... Weasel probably gave her some STD.

As soon as they were gone, I sauntered over to the Three Broomsticks to have a Butterbeer with Dumb and Dumber, aka Crabbe and Goyle. Problem was, as I drank my drink, I couldn't help but think of Granger, sucking on a bottle. Sodding bint. She was probably sucking off Weasel at the very moment.

I decided to fuck with her at our little tutoring session on Monday. Then we'd see how fucking coy she could be.

I hated fucking Mondays. Not only was I usually hung over from my Sunday evening "nightcap," but this term some bloody ponce decided to land me with double Transfiguration with fucking Harry Potter and his dream team and a healthy portion of Arithmancy with Granger first thing in the morning.

On this particular Monday, however, I could at least look forward to toying with Granger. I was enjoying our little tutoring sessions. No matter what I said or did to her, the Mudblood wouldn't fight back. It was brilliant to see the anger dance in her eyes whilst her mouth stayed shut and her wand stayed at her side. Though I would have liked to have a good row with her every once and a while, just to get my adrenaline pumping.

As usual, Granger was already there when I arrived in our study room. She was always annoyingly prompt.

We had informally decided to cover Transfiguration and Arithmancy on Mondays, Charms and History of Magic on Wednesday, and Potions on Fridays. So, we set to work on some human-animal transfigurations. As always, the uppity bitch nailed it on her first go. I'd be damned if I admitted that it took me four tries. I really hated her sometimes.

I suggested that we take a break, and she narrowed her eyes at me, as though suspicious that I was up to something. Well, I was, but it's not like she knew that. We sat on the couch, though she placed herself as far away from me as she could manage. She started tapping her fingers on the coffee table to her side.

Willing her to stop the bloody annoying noise, I began my pleasant little interrogation.

"Did you have a date recently?" I asked her, even though I knew the answer.

"Yes..." she drifted off, not quite sure why I was asking her.

"With whom did you have a date?" Would she admit to going out with that Weasley twit?

"Oh, um, Ron," she answered dutifully, though she was a bit unsure as to whether or not she should comply. I was trying to look friendly so as to initiate confrontation with her.

"Did you shag him, Granger?" I didn't mean to sound so tart when I asked her that. Well, hell, yes I did. I hated that sodding git.

"No!" she shrieked as she jumped off of the couch, suddenly deciding that she, indeed, wouldn't participate in my little game. I grabbed her hand and yanked her back down. "How dare you ask me such a question you, you... Malfoy."

"Witty comeback." I liked playing with her like this. She was just so easy to provoke. I continued holding fast to her wrist and started the second vein of my teasing. "Are you shy, Hermione?"

"Shy?" Ah, yes. She was looking at me as though I was crazy.

"I'm shy." It came out a lot more earnest than I had intended. I was trying to be coy and smug, but for the first time I was having trouble masking the truth.

"You're not shy," she countered, "You're Malfoy. If you're shy, then I'm Queen Elizabeth." She struggled against my firm grip, inching her body away from mine.

I could have been funny and gotten down and kissed her feet or something, but instead I just said to her, "All hail the Queen."

She was caught between believing me and thinking I was just joking. In truth, it was a little of both. "I overcome my shyness," I told her, "because I have to."

Yes, this was good. I was disarming her; she didn't know how to respond.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She questioned, yanking her wrist from my grip and jumping to her feet. I simply chuckled. Hearing 'fuck' cross Granger's lips was so odd. I thought she was a bloody saint.

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, I curse, for Christ's sake." Apparently she was a mind reader. I retained my snide grin and said nothing.

"Damn it, Malfoy. Stop you mind-fucking diatribe and let us resume our studies."

Somehow her mixing 'fuck' and the lofty use of 'let us resume our studies' didn't sit too well with me. "Alright," I answered, "but only if you stop mixing profanity with academia, it's just fucking wrong coming from you."

"Fine," she huffed, and returned to the table to immerse herself in Arithmancy. I had her, I so had her.

End Part Three