Buzzed

-Chapter Three-

Fluffy Bunnies, Exploding Hairspray and Cristiano Ronaldo

Hermione didn't forget in her anger, the dangers of storming in a flurry of rage and hatred through the dark halls of Hogwarts. Oh, no. She was Hermione Granger, Prefect, and head of her class. She would not see to it that her reputation was tarnished by the impeccable, foul boy that was Blaise Zabini.

She was undoubtedly furious. Of all people to point that out and leave her stripped. She shook her head as she wrung her hands. Her hands? Didn't she have something in her hands? She touched her bag that was hanging down and bouncing gingerly by her hip.

She thought back to what she was doing before her tirade with Zabini. She needed a new name for him. A mean, terrible nickname for him that she could refer to him in her mind. What did she call him in that stupid dairy entry?

Frank Slytherin? Oh dear. She was so lacking creativity.

Wait. Looking for something. What was it? Oh. OH!

Hermione looked around frantically, flipping around her books looking for her scroll, her potions essay. She groaned when she didn't see it.

She leaned against the wall and tapped her head against it lightly. A concussion wouldn't really help her in this sense. It could in a morbid sense in which all she did was see stars for the next week until Wednesday where she would be... no. That wouldn't work either. Violence was not an option.

Hermione glanced down the hall. She had already ascended the four flights of stairs and only had two more corridors to walk through before she would be in her dorm.

She ran her hand through her snarled hair. She bounced between decisions of abandoning the scroll, returning tomorrow night in hopes that the house elves would keep in safekeeping, or going to get it now.

Choice One- Was plausible, to say the least. But more work than necessary. She was more that three-fourths done and if she didn't go and get it, she'd actually have to do it when all of the other students did theirs. She couldn't bear that. She was very proud of this essay. Besides it was a part of her midterm final. Redoing the essay would be detrimental.

Choice Two- The house elves might sabotage her essay in attempt to get her back for her help. Help. Right. Or it might be ruined in some scary accident with spaghetti sauce or morning porridge. That'd be even more humiliating. But, more likely. She could always copy from her original score.

Both scenarios saved her from ever re-encountering the arrogant son of a bitch that humiliated her twice, both times embarrassing her on the same concept. Both scenarios kept her from having her anger pitching over the edge into a red-faced oblivion of unladylike words and careless remarks. Both scenarios were moronically safe.

Dear God, Hermione, just go get the scroll, she told herself. You may be pissed as hell, but you don't even have to say anything. Just walk in there, find the scroll and leave. Maybe Zabini was just as pissed off as you and left in his own flurry of fury and catastrophe that is perpetual Slytherin behaviour.

As Hermione made her way down the corridor, she thought to her self, My, my Hermione. You are so stereotypical.

***

Hermione found herself in front of the portrait of many colors and shapes. She decided to study this rather large piece of work in a very dark corridor at two in the morning, wearing purple plaid pajama bottoms, a white tank top, a very misplaced Prefect badge and a worried frown.

She cocked her head to the side to gaze a rather large pineapple. Of which was larger than the moderately sized pumpkin on the other side.

What was with the ‘pumpkins’? Hermione mused.

She bit her lip in a not-so-subtle grimace as she studied the perfect ripeness of a bright yellow banana with a slight tinge of green on the edges. She blinked forcefully and looked at the ceiling. Studying this portrait for real for the first time might have been a little more practical in the daylight. But instead, she was studying, gazing and at the same time, trying to listen for any movement caused by a certain big-headed prat within the kitchen.

"Okay, Hermione. Just do this. If he's in there, then he's in there. If he's not. Perfect. But if you stand out here any longer, he'll eventually come out whether or not it's now or six in the morning, and you'll be knocked to the floor for the second time in this hour. By the same painting. Now if you're trying to save your dignity, standing out here definitely isn't doing it for you," Hermione whispered to herself.

She stepped aside and tickled the pear with a hesitant stroke. The portrait immediately swung open. She thought about closing her eyes, but leaning over timidly and peeking a look did just fine. Until she saw a black-haired, slouch-positioned, and amused-looking student peering from over his coffee up and udder his unruly hair.

"Dammit," Hermione heard herself say.

She leaned back over the wall still not inside the kitchen. The portrait remained open, still waiting for her to enter. Why couldn't it have done that when she was standing in the middle of the frame-way?

Hermione grumbled to herself, counted to three, bit her tongue from saying anything about the previous argument and told her temperament to just shut up.

She stepped out from the corner and didn't meet Zabini in the eye. She walked into the room and heard the portrait shut behind her.

Useless, I'll be out of here in two seconds. Just have to find the scroll.

She looked in front of her, eyes scanning the gray tiled floor, but she didn't see anything. She then looked behind herself to see if it had rolled into a corner behind her. She did this a couple of more times, and not until Zabini spoke did she realize she was spinning in circles.

"Granger, looking for something?" he asked collectively.

Hermione's eyes snapped up to his and a little absentmindedly she shook her head. She walked over to the door next to the table and pushed open the brown swinging door to see if it happened to roll in there during her fall. No such luck.

Ignoring Zabini's never hesitant gaze, Hermione got on her hands and knees and looked under the table for it, again, no such luck.

She did happen to see that Zabini was wearing dark sweat pants that rose just above his ankle to reveal a dark strip of skin and unruly hair. She didn't know what to think of it, or why it phased her, because body hair certainly was normal, especially on guys in fact. With the whole not shaving thing and the puberty thing. Oh, that's why she was rambling.

Suddenly, Zabini's head popped into her view. "You sure you're not looking for something? I have a feeling if you don't see it under a three by three table under two seconds, then it's probably not under there. What ever is it that you're looking for," he offered. Was he being civil?

Hermione stood up quickly, ignoring what he had to say. She walked farther into the kitchen among the unique kitchen tools only found in a kitchen that housed hundreds of witches and wizards. She didn't find it in any nook and cranny. She turned around and looked at Zabini.

"Okay, where is it?" she said in a tone that was meant for no arguing.

Obviously, Zabini didn't get the hint. "You know Granger, you'd be very good in business. Where'd you learn to speak so forcefully?" he said, placing his chin on one fist. Hermione glowered at him.

"You know Zabini, you have a terrible knack for being an insufferable prat. Now, I know you have it. Where is it?" she said, putting her hands on her hips unconsciously.

She saw Zabini's eyes flicker to her hands and didn't answer. She glanced down at her hands and huffed. She placed them by her sides but replaced her glowering stare on Zabini.

She must have seemed to be looking for an answer because he said, "I don't know Granger. Seeing as I have no idea what you are talking about," he said quizzically.

"I've looked everywhere. I came here with it and I left without it. It has to be in this kitchen. And since it's not here, you have to have it," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Granger, maybe informing me out of your misguided accusations," he paused, "to what exactly I have stolen," he emphasized the last few words with a little force. Hermione cast an ‘I'm-not-amused-at-this-game’ look and shifted weight from one foot to another.

"My potions essay. The scroll. When I fell." Zabini smirked at these words. "I dropped my potions essay, and I forgot to grab it. Now, it seems that it has so mysteriously disappeared. Now, save us the valuable sleep time and just give me the essay so we both can serve our nights peacefully."

"It seems to me that blaming me for your forget-fullness isn't exactly the most moralistic way to go. And besides, you don't seem like the one who goes back to your dorm and sleeps," he said, abandoning his coffee cup and standing up out of his chair.

"I'm not blaming you for my forget-fullness!" Hermione cried. "I am simply accusing you of stealing my essay!" she exclaimed. She paused at the slight absurdity of her words. Zabini cocked an eyebrow.

"Why would I steal your essay?" Zabini asked effortlessly.

"I-I-" Hermione stuttered.

What would be the point of him stealing her essay? It was basically a fruitless act. Despite the fact that she was head of the class and that essay would be worth the top grade for their final. But due to modesty, she wouldn't admit that out loud. She had no earthly idea of how well he did in potions.

"Exactly," he stated.

He then sat down and continued to sip his coffee staring ahead. He had proved his point, what more was there to say. But Hermione still stood dumbstruck in the middle of the kitchen. Then where was it? She didn't really believe him, did she? Did she?

She didn't know what to say. She could press him until he fessed up the scroll, but why did he keep it? She started to bite the loose skin on the top of her thumb's knuckle. A habit she had formed sometime between starting at Hogwarts and the insane stress her two best friends put her through.

Zabini looked up at her. "Are you going to just stand there and suck your thumb, or do you care for a cup of coffee?"

At the moment the words were said, Dobby entered lazily dragging his feet and his eyelids.

"Dobby can help Missus Hermione," he mumbled. Hermione couldn't send him back with nothing to do. She might as well have woken with a purpose instead of in vain.

"Uh... Dobby, I'll have the usual. Only a half a glass, please," she said quietly, throwing a fierce look at Zabini who merely shrugged.

Dobby picked up his pace and hurriedly gathered her cup of coffee adding her usual amount of sugar and cream. He handed her the tall, half-filled, dark red coffee mug. Hermione smiled gratefully and took the cup with both hands. Dobby shuffled off to sleep as Hermione turned around awkwardly. She might as well drink it. She morosely crossed the room to sit down in front of Zabini.

"Don't look like you'll have to decide whether or not to destroy the world with nuclear bombs or Unforgivables. It's just a cup of coffee," Zabini said quite bitterly.

"It's not the coffee, it's..." she started hotly, but trailed off quietly, not willing to be difficult.

Zabini gave her an odd look. Almost like the civility discomforted him. Hermione shot him a look to say, 'don't get used to it, it won't happen again.'

Zabini shrugged. Hermione thought that maybe if she sat here with him for a while, he might forgo her essay. Which he HAD to have.

She took a hesitant sip of coffee, but the liquid was much to hot for her and burnt the sensitive skin on her lips. She made a sharp, high-pitched noise and set the coffee cup down.

Zabini had that same amused smirk on his lips when she looked up for a brief moment. She reached over into her bag and took out her wand. She muttered a cooling spell and stirred her coffee with her wand for a few moments.

She removed her wand and grabbed a napkin (yes, with the dancing pumpkins) to wipe the coffee from it. She was very aware of Zabini watching her every move but decided that looking up at him was unnecessary.

She tested her coffee to find that it was a perfect temperature. She took a longer sip and while her face was partially concealed by her cup, she allowed her eyes to flick over to Zabini. His eyes weren't fixed on her anymore but now on the same cuts that the table exemplified.

She began to grow weary and the air became more awkward and uncomfortable. She drank her coffee with some haste to end the night as soon as possible, but even with her paced drinking and half cup, Zabini finished before her. He picked up his cup and walked to the counters. Hermione watched him as far as her peripheral vision allowed, and when she heard the portrait swing open, she swung around.

"Where are you going?" she asked. Zabini turned to her.

"I don't know about you, but-" He looked at his wrist watch "A quarter after two in the morning is about a good time to go to sleep," he said with a bit a mocking tone.

This caused Hermione's demeanor to become rigid. "What about my essay?" she asked, as if it were plain.

"What about it? I don't have it," he said, stepping out. "Goodnight, Granger," he said just as the portrait closed.

Hermione's eyes were wide.

Go after him! He has to have your essay, she told herself.

Her eyes cast down to her bag on the floor. She contemplated looking once more, something she was too proud to do in Zabini's presence. She shook her head and began drinking her coffee again. But when the nagging thought of having to redo her essay over again, had her digging through her bag.

And to her utter disappointment, embarrassment, and relief, there was her scroll. In a pocket she forgot to pursue in her fury.

***

Nothing individually interesting happened in the next week. It was just another week at school with grueling homework assignments, idle conversation and one of the rare blissful weeks where nothing tragic occurred.

Hermione decided that going to the kitchens at one thirty in the morning wasn't the best time to go, just in case that was his time to drink coffee. She now just went at three thirty without any company, failing to work on her Potions essay and succeeding at drinking too much caffeine for her body to handle. Somehow she got six hours of sleep in each night. Even if they were at three hour intervals.

It was Thursday evening and Hermione was sitting at dinner, eating a dinner roll. Ginny was chattering on about how Malfoy had done something horrendous to Lavender, which was the reason to why she had been absent for the past three hours.

"Malfoy's gone too," Ron pointed out.

All four of them looked towards the Slytherin table. Hermione had to turn around, as her back was to the table. Sure enough Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle were missing their leader. Hermione frowned at the thought of Zabini being under the rule of Malfoy.

While still turned around, her eyes fixed on the group, she asked, "What did he do?"

When Zabini's eyes flickered up to meet hers, she finally turned around. She looked at the group expectantly.

"Something about parboiling hairspray. There's a lot of rumors floating around," Ginny said.

"Parboiling hairspray?" Hermione scoffed. Ron cast an annoyed look at Ginny.

"She's just kidding. One Ravenclaw got into it real bad with Malfoy, and Lavender got in the way. Multiplication of hexes or something. There's something going around that her bag contained hairspray and one hex including heat, which caused the bottle to blow up. But I doubt it's true," Harry explained.

Hermione nodded. "Anybody seriously hurt?" she asked absentmindedly. The silent week had to close with a dramatic bang.

"No, I don't think so," one person said. She wasn't sure who. She finished her dinner quietly and bid her friends goodbye. Harry caught up with her on the way to the dorms.

"Hey, ‘Monie."

"Hullo, Harry. Come to bear me company?" she asked lightly.

"Why of course. These halls of Hogwarts are tedious with danger," he said with a smile. Hermione laughed.

"Tedious? Did you just say tedious? Dear Harry, I am impressed," she said, shifting her bag up on her shoulder. Harry shrugged.

"You said it in the same context before," he said with a mischievous smile. Hermione scoffed then laughed.

"My, my Harry. You are an intelligent one," she said shaking her head. Harry pretended to sulk.

"And you're fair-weathered. I'm impressive first then I'm sarcastically intelligent. I think you're trying to injure my pride," he said with a hurt expression.

"It's all in my diabolical plan," she said with a placid face. They came upon the portrait and they stepped in.

"And that would entail, what?" Harry pressed. Hermione spun on him, aghast.

"Harry! The diabolical plan is secret. And not for others to know," she said, narrowing her eyes. Harry laughed at her.

"As long as us surviving and Slytherins becoming extinct is involved," he mumbled joking. Hermione smirked.

"Believe me. The latter is definitely included," she said.

Harry laughed, but then gave her an odd look. "And the for-"

Hermione cut him off with a look that said ‘Diabolical. Plan. Secret. Shhh.’ Harry held up his hands in surrender. The common room was noisy with talk of Lavender, Malfoy, the end of the term coming up in a little more than a month, and end of term finals.

"Harry, it's too noisy for me. I'm just going to go up and do my work in my room," she said over everybody. It was a lie, because Hermione Granger could work under any conditions, but Harry just nodded without any word as he started up a conversation with Seamus.

Hermione weaved through people and up the stairs to her dorm on the sixth floor.

Thankfully her dorm mate was not in her room, so she had the room to herself for a while. Hermione didn't plan on going out anywhere else that evening. Until early morning at least. So, she dressed in a pair of white sweat pants and an old football [AN- Using English terms here. Americans- to not get absolutely confused- just reminding you that I mean soccer] league t-shirt from a few summers ago. She pulled her mass of hair back in a sloppy ponytail. She pulled off her knee socks and threw them somewhere on the floor.

She collapsed on her bed. Finally, it was Friday. Blissfully Friday. She laid there for a long time so staring at the canopy and settling in the comfort of her bed.

Her roommate Erica opened the door echoing a loud, tinkling laugh and bidding someone a hearty goodbye. Hermione's eyes shot open and she was greeted with the ceiling.

Whoops.

She sat up lazily to see the blonde closing the door and looking over at Hermione. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were sleeping."

"Either did I," Hermione mumbled.

She blinked heavily and looked over at the clock. Midnight. Ugh. Hermione sat all of the way up, crossing her legs and rubbing under her eyes.

"Long week, huh?" Erica asked as she threw her things on the floor beside her bed. She sat on the edge of her bed looking anything but haggard. Hermione tried to gain her senses back, she slept hard.

"Uh...yeah. Stressful," she automatically responded.

Erica was one of Hermione's better friends. They had been roommates since third year, this being their third year together. Before Hermione had started her late nights and Erica started dating Colin, they used to stay up late talking about nonsense stuff, morbid stuff, blithe stuff. Many things. But now Erica was spending time out until curfew or in Colin's room and Hermione was always in the common room or in the kitchens.

Erica nodded to Hermione's response. "You going back to bed?" she asked. Hermione shook her head.

"No, I wanted to get some work done until I fell asleep. I'm going to go down into the common room and finish some stuff," she said still sitting on her bed.

Erica nodded. She used to question Hermione and her late nights. She stopped after she got the same answer. It was just commonplace now. Erica stood up and headed for the bathroom.

"I'll probably see you tomorrow," Hermione offered. Erica turned around and smiled and nodded and proceeded into the bathroom. They really didn't talk much anymore.

Hermione reached under her mattress and took out her diary/journal/rambling thing. She grabbed her wand and bag that contained her other books and went down into the common room.

Hermione sat at her favorite table in the corner of the room. The room was dark now, the students all in their dorms. The silence was much of Hermione's thing. There were days when she was lonely and the silence was nothing but a dreary, miserable presence that she couldn't talk to. She felt that tonight might be one of those nights.

She drew her wand and lit the candle on her table. She then re-lit the fireplace to produce more light. Once the room was lit better she pulled out her wand.

She worked on her Arithmancy assignment and found that the project was dreadfully long and just a bunch of busy work. She forfeited the many sheets and left them for another night. They weren't due until Monday anyway. She sighed and set down her quill. Her hands were ink stained so she rid the stains off her hands with her wand.

She looked at her watch. It was one thirty. She winced. An hour and a half and she wasn't done with those Arithmancy problems. Gods, she hate busy work.

She casted a look at her small purple, bound book. The journal was a deep, royal purple with HG inscribed in the corner. There were small and simple designs along the edges, but all in all, the book was plain and worn. It wasn't the first one she owned. It was probably the fourth she filled.

She hadn't really written in the journal since her first encounter with Zabini. She filled in little things that happened. Like how she re-encountered Zabini on Monday and the little incident with her scroll. But all it said was a lot of “Insufferable’s", "Prick's", and "Stupidity's."

She glanced at her small book and then to her Potions scroll. She hadn't worked on her essay at all since Monday, but then again, she hadn't really written since Monday. She decided that the less futile act would be writing in her journal. Trying to work on her Potions essay would just result in doodling.

Hermione thought back to her conversation with Harry.

Thursday November 17th

Artful Ways in Destroying the Mass Population That Is the House of Slytherin

1. Mascot.

Find some inexplicable way to cleanse the world of snakes. Rebreeding hawks multiple times may work. Poison all mice. Or kill all mice. By a separate force? Invent a new disease that kills off all snakes in the world? That might be a difficult thing to do. Not quite illegal as killing off all of the Slytherins in the world. But my point is- Kill the mascot, there is not representative for the house. Therefore no house. Pretty lame.

2. Rid the World of All Purebreds.

I'm pretty sure the only way to make this happen is illegal in every country in the world. Besides, it'd wouldn't be effective for another generation.

3. Q-tip them to Death.

Seriously, no one really knows the danger of cleaning one's ears. Not only does it affect your hearing permanently but sticking foreign objects into your ear canal is just plain dangerous. Clean Ears....Brain Damage...Clean Ears... Brain Damage. I think the choice is obvious.

Okay... that's a bit off topic.

4. Humiliation.

This may be a difficult situation or feat, but it is not impossible. Slytherins have three things. 1) Their vice. 2) Their hair. 3) Their pride.

So, I say we stick them all in a little glass box with fluffy rabbits, baby birdies, teddy bears and no hair gel. Sure enough they will be so deeply ashamed that they will return from the terrible planet they came from to begin with and be forever lost to us. Lost as in not meaning losing something you found. Lost as in stuffing that horrendous sweater in a box forever and sending it out to sea with no hopes in ever ‘finding’ it again.

Hermione sighed. She felt her creativity draining. She closed the book with a huff. What to do now? She had gotten over four hours of sleep when she dosed off early. Something she hardly got before midnight. Now, she was wired with energy, but no creativity. One more glance at her watch. 2:05.

She twisted her mouth. Was it still too early to go to the kitchens? Maybe. Boredom settled in. She unwillingly grabbed her essay and began to first draft some sentences to begin with the essence of zephyrs' saliva. But the only sentences she got out on her doodles on parchment was: ‘The essence of balloons are fantastic episodes of lions goddesses.’

Wait. What? Hermione surrounded this sentence with a misdemeanor of a doodle of X's and curlicues. She tried again.

‘The essence of zephyr literacy and the chalk of pygmy monkeys has no idea that the young student was sucking helium.’

Um. I don't think that's quite right. Hermione let her eyes run over the sentence a few times. Where are these coming from, she asked herself dully. At least the first four words are right.

‘The essence of pygmy monkeys' definite amount of saliva is the maroon tinge that adds a further more capable version of stirring.’

Closer. But not quite right. Seeing as how the subject was just a tad bit off. She sighed. She was getting no where. She gathered her stuff and put it all in her bag. She put the scroll in her bag, just in case another incident were to happen as it did Monday. She found her Prefect badge and put it on.

She slipped out of the common room and made her way to the kitchens.

The walk was the same as it ever was. She was careful in listening and staying against the wall. She often let her mind wander as she walked, enjoying the slants of moonlight that came in through the large windows in certain hallways. The windows were huge, but located near the ceiling of the nearly hundred-foot high walls of the castle.

She loved the windows of Hogwarts. Always sparkling and glistening with wither raindrops, frost, sunlight, or in this case, moonlight. She often feared of getting caught in some of these halls with the large, side-by-side windows on a bright moon like this. There were no shadows to hide in. It was even worse when the ceilings were arches of windows. There was an entire section in Hogwarts: A History about the architecture. But it wasn't one of the more memorable chapters in the book. Plus, she’d rather experience the chapter for herself.

When she traveled farther down into the castle, she ached for warmth. The dungeons were often so cold. The windows were also less frequent. She finally reached the main corridor with the kitchens.

She didn't bother listening for anybody, instead she just tickled the pear and walked in. She was very pleased to find that the kitchen was deserted with no arrogant Slytherin in sight.

Dobby rounded the corner and she pitied him. He always woke just to serve her coffee every single morning. Probably twice when Zabini came in. She smiled at him and he shuffled off without a word.

Her stomach gurgled a bit and she called out, "Oh, Dobby, could you possibly get me any rolls left over from dinner tonight?"

He nodded and started busing himself around. Hermione turned around and walked to her table. She sat down in the chair that had her back to the portrait. She pulled out her essay and notes/doodle paper. She looked at her pathetic attempts at starting a sentence. She shook her head at her potential misery.

Okay, so it was more of a pathetic night than it was miserable night. Frankly, she would rather have had her night be pathetic than miserable.

She smiled at Dobby when he set the coffee and platter of five or so rolls on her table. She wouldn't eat them all, and she couldn't tell if Dobby was being generous or saving himself some sleep, but the gesture was nice.

"Thank you, Dobby," she said gratefully. He shuffled off again, nodding.

She took a small sip of her coffee. She was finally getting used to the extremes of hot coffee. The sustenance was mind fuel for her and she immediately could begin on her essay.

She started her paragraph on the note's paper and then copied it to her scroll where she just went ahead and wrote the next three paragraphs until a voice had her dropping her quill, squeaking rather loudly, and whipping around with a hand over her mouth.

Zabini was standing in front of the portrait with his mouth half open in a sentence. Suddenly his voice broke out into a very amused grin and Hermione's hand slipped from her face and her widened eyes narrowed.

"Well, Granger, didn't mean to scare you," he said, looking on the brink of laughing. Hermione tightened her jaw and took a deep breath.

"Don't you ever give any warning?" she asked testily.

Dobby came rushing in obviously worried about Hermione's not-so-subtle scream. But after a quick observation to see that no one was bleeding, that no one was injured and the only new company in the room was Zabini, Dobby disappeared, seeming to be grumbling. Zabini cast an odd look at Dobby's odd entrance and awkward exit, but then refocused his attention on Hermione.

"I wasn't aware that was necessary," he said smoothly. Hermione shook her head irritably.

"It is plain courtesy to warn a person before entering a room," Hermione exclaimed.

"I'm terribly sorry, Granger," he said dryly.

Hermione sighed and turned back to her essay. Dobby came in with the uncalled for, but probably wanted cup of black coffee and handed it to Zabini. Hermione heard him mumble a surprised 'Thank you' before sitting down opposite to her.

She attempted picking up where she left off. She had only about two more paragraphs of this topic, then the conclusion, then she'd be finished. But her train of thought had been deteriorated. She growled in annoyance before placing her quill down and resting her forehead in one hand.

"Everything alright, Granger?" Zabini said with his usual smirk. Hermione couldn't see it, but she could very well hear it.

"Fine," she snapped. Zabini paused for a moment before pressing her further.

"That wouldn't happened to be the essay that I happened to have stolen?" he remarked with a superior tone.

Hermione raised her head with irritation. She didn't say anything, just looked at him, her jaw clenched and her eyes slightly narrowed.

"It isn't, then?" he asked. Hermione straightened, looked down at the table and didn't answer. "Because if it is the scroll I stole, I would immediately like to be informed of the error of my ways. If I have stolen something, I would like to be punished because I've always been told that stealing is of one o-"

"Yes, it's the scroll. That I accused you of stealing. That I found in my bag later that night," she snapped, her eyes boring into his. But this was ineffective since such looks of mock and amusement lingered in his eyes.

"Oh, well, then. There's no problem then," he said, but his voice entailed that there was a problem. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You are so incredibly arrogant. You could just ask for an apology and I would give it to you," she said in a monotone voice.

He didn't say anything, he just looked at her expectantly. She stared right back at him. She wasn't going to apologize until he made some vocal inclination that she should.

"You know, I was deeply shocked and degraded by your blatant accusations," he said without a single note of morose. Hermione shut her eyes and counted to three.

"Alright, Zabini. I apologize for my blind and wring accusations," she said, trying to sound sincere. She wasn't sure how it did come out, but he seemed satisfied.

"Apology accepted," he said nodding. Hermione stared for a moment. He was a bit difficult to work with. Not to mention work around.

She turned back to her essay, but found that she was faced with another case of writers block. She chewed on the end of her quill desperately wishing it didn't taste like baking soda. She was out of Sugar Quills. She decided that next Hogsmeade trip she would find herself an industrial sized box of Sugar Quills that would last her the holidays.

When was the next Hogsmeade trip? Oh, next Sunday. She would have to make sure she had enough for presents and her qu- Zabini had said something.

"Wha?" Hermione said without any eloquence. Zabini smirked.

"Do you like football?" he asked. Hermione just blinked at him. "Your shirt. Football. Do you like it?"

Hermione even had to look down at her shirt. "Oh! Um, no. Wait. Yes, yes. I do. I love it," she stumbled out, looking back up at him.

"Hermione Granger, interested in a sport. With the way you bash Quidditch, I wouldn't have imagined it," he said, seemingly interested.

"It's the same with me and tennis. I don't understand why anyone could be interested in the sport. Why even watch Wimbledon?" she stated. Zabini looked confused.

"Muggle thing," she said shaking her head.

"Well, so is football," Zabini offered. Hermione shrugged.

"Well, do you like it?" she asked. Hermione thought Zabini smiled.

"Yeah, I've played as long as I can remember," he said proudly. Hermione smiled slightly. "So, you don't even like watching Quidditch?" Zabini continued.

"I like cheering for my friends, but I'm just not all into it. I guess it has some relevancy to football and that's why I watch it. But I'll never keep up with the professional teams," she said.

"Do you watch professional football?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "Well, when I can. My dad tapes some of the good games for me when I'm here at school. I'll watch them in the summertime when I'm not out playing in a league," she said, taking a sip of coffee. "What club do you go for?"

Zabini smirked. "Manchester United of course." Hermione laughed. Zabini glared at her. "What about you?"

"I'm a Chelsea girl myself. But Man U is definitely second when Chelsea's out," she said with a blithe air. "I grew up in the area. That's mainly a reason. Besides, Joe Cole is amazing."

"I'll agree with that. But he's no match to Cr-" Hermione cut him off.

"Don't say Cristiano Ronaldo. If you do, I'll personally remove you from this kitchen," she threatened. Zabini laughed and held up his hands in surrender.

"Then I'll stick with Rossi," he said. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

For the next half of an hour, the two of them talked about how Beckham was a sell out. How Ronaldo's footwork was amazing (Hermione would admit it, not happily, but she would). And how the new Nike billboard of Wayne Rooney was a bit controversial.