Tutoring A Dragon

Two

She was sitting in a chair with her feet propped up in the Transfiguration section when Malfoy rounded the corner, panting slightly.

"You had to pick the effing biggest section in the whole effing Library, didn't you? And the most boring, and to top the whole sodding thing off, IT'S THE SECTION THAT IS BLOODY USED MOST!" he roared.

Madame Pince was there in a flash.

"I don't know what you were yelling about, Mr. Malfoy, but you may not yell about it here. Out of my library, both of you!" she said shrilly, waving her hands at them.

Hermione looked at Malfoy and gave him a 'now you've done it' look. He sneered at her, and actually growled. She rolled her eyes and walked away up a stair case.

"And where do you think you're going, Granger?" he called after her.

"Well," she said, turning to look at him from one-quarter of the way up the staircase, "we've been kicked out of the library for your horrible yelling. There is no where else that we could possibly study. I'm going back to my common room. Just try and stop me, Malfoy, and I'll scream." She recommenced stalking up the stairs thinking of fifteen ways Rauf the Mutilator tortured people and kept them conscious, and wondered if they'd work on a Malfoy.

"Oh, you're going back to your common room to be all prissy with your mates, are you?" he muttered under his breath. "Well, maybe I should tag along. Occultatio!" he said, pointing his wand at himself. In an instant he was concealed and he trotted up the stairs behind her. He figured he had three hours to watch them, three hours to learn some of their secrets.

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"And I see from the screaming into the pillow, the saga continues," said Ron to Harry as he sat down on the couch catty-corner to what people now called 'Hermione's scream-a-thon couch of horror'. It was quite amusing for everyone besides Hermione, who, when in a bad mood, tended to hex the younger students whenever they repeated the mockery of Hermione's favorite couch.

"I heard that," said the muffled voice of Hermione from inside the pillow. "And I jolly well know you think the whole 'couch of horror' thing is bloody hilarious. Har-dee-har-har-har to you!"

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Draco watched this from a chair next to a fire, amused. Upon his entering the Gryffindor common room, he immediately noticed the difference in the styles of the Founders. The Slytherin common room was dark, dank, and in the winter the ceiling dripped somewhat horribly. His chambers--as a prefect he had a private room--were not even as cozy as the Gryffindor common room, though in the winter, they didn't drip as much as the common room did, and for that he was grateful.

The Gryffindor common room had at least twenty-five poofy, fluffy, comfy armchairs and sofas. They were all an eye-blindingly red and/or gold, but you could melt in one if you weren't careful. It had a huge fireplace in the center of one side of the room, and tables on the other side of the room. People obviously nicked food from the kitchens, so there were chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies and milk spread out on a table near the steps to the dormitories.

He heaved a silent sigh and realized that he should get out of the Gryffindor common room; his charm would wear off in about ten minutes, and people, namely, Pansy Parkinson, would be looking for him. He got up, swerved to avoid a second year, and crawled out of the portrait hole as quickly as he could and made his way back to his room, via the Slytherin common room.

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Hermione was sitting on her bed when Ginny came in.

"Ron said you wanted to talk to me?" Ginny said, sitting on the bed, legs folded.

"ERGH! All these MEN are driving me NUTS!" said Hermione. "What about you, Gin?"

Ginny smiled slightly wearily. "Hermione, I'm the only girl in a family of six boys. Men always drive me nuts. But, unlike you, I can't get away from them when summer vacation comes around."

"So, then, we should do something. You don't have many girlfriends, do you Gin?"

"True, but fine, rub it in!" joked Ginny.

"Well, no offense intended about the first comment, Gin. I think we should hang out more often. How would you like to go to Hogsmeade this weekend? We could go shopping and get a butterbeer and gossip our hearts out," said Hermione, hopefully.

Ginny's face lit up. "Like it? I'd LOVE it!" she squealed. And then leaped over and hugged Hermione hard.

Hermione grinned. It was payback time, and she'd be able to have fun with Ginny while she made Ron and Harry sweat. Plus, at the end of all this, she'd have a girlfriend to complain about those boys to.

Watch out, world. Hermione Granger had a plan.

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It was Saturday, and Hermione had blown off all of her tutoring sessions since that eventful one on Wednesday, and avoided Draco Malfoy like the plague. She and Ginny had made plans to ditch their male friends and hang out in Hogsmeade for the entire day. And they planned to say something awful to Draco if he showed his ferret-like face.

"Oooh, Ginny, look at that on!" exclaimed Hermione over a long, sweeping emerald green witch's gown. It also had a matching cloak that they adored, but it was out of their price range. "Let's go try clothes on!" said Hermione, impulsively.

"Oh, we couldn't just go in there to try clothes on, it wouldn't be fair to the store owner!" protested Ginny.

"Muggles do it all the time! Last summer I went to London with my friend Leaf, and we went to the young women section in a ritzy department store and tried on every outfit that they had! It was so much fun! And we ended up buying a scarf, which made the attendant kind of annoyed, but what could he do? Trust me, we can do this."

So they went inside the store, which happened to be one of the most expensive wizard stores. Its name was Grimbult & Meyer. They'd been around for a hundred years and made the best clothes.

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Across the street, Draco sat at a table on a patio outside of his favorite cafe in Hogsmeade. He had been watching Granger and her Weasel friend; wondering in God's name why women of all natures--even horrendously smart ones like Granger--liked to go into a store and try on clothes for hours. He had been subjected to this horrible ritual when his father's uncle's son's daughter came for the summer every year. And every year, his mother took them shopping at Grimbult & Meyer, and every year, like clockwork, he was forced to hold their purses and bags of many natures while they tried on endless amounts of clothes.

He sighed. Women, can't live with them, can't make an army to take over the world without 'em.

"Waiter, check, please," he called to the lazy young male who was a pathetic excuse for a waiter. He toyed with the idea of sending a curse that would make the man feel like he was on fire if he sat down, but shook his head at the idea. He paid for the five lattes that he had sipped until he found the 'perfect' taste.

Walking to the store across the street, he paused. Why should he be nice to anyone? In particular, a Mudblood. He soon found the answer: he would fail several subjects if he didn't have the studious help of Hermione Granger. And most obviously, she was mad at him. So he would do what he could to reduce her anger? He sighed as he pushed open the door and immediately heard a squeal of happiness from one Miss Hermione Granger.

"Oh, Gin, look at this! Just look! It looks great, but how would I ever afford it?" Hermione sighed. Life was just not fair sometimes.

"Well, well, well Granger. Looks like you are something of a beauty after all. I'm shocked," said Draco to himself sarcastically before he turned and walked to the cashier, which was out of hearing distance for the giggling girls. "I want to but that gown and the cloak and shoes that match it for that young lady," he hissed in a low tone to the cashier, who nodded. "And please tell her who bought them for her, it's very important." He slipped the man two galleons, and the man immediately smiled widely.

"Of course, monsieur, of course. The bill comes to..." he rattled off a number that made Draco raise an eyebrow.

"That is not at all expensive," he muttered to himself, "though since she's a mudblood-Muggle-born it would be inexpensive. No taste whatsoever." He pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check, signed it and thrust it at the cashier.

He knew he was breaking rule 81 of The Malfoy Standard Rulebook: Rules 50-100 ("In no way shall a Malfoy be consciously nice, respectful, polite, or cordial to a half-blood, blood traitor [Witness: The Weasley Clan], or a mudblood."). But he had only broken a rule once before in his lifetime, and a Malfoy was given ten rule-breaking freebies, but on the eleventh, you were subject to Grand Trial of the Malfoy Clan Leaders. And that rule was number three hundred and thirty-five ("A Malfoy will never show any happy facial expression or emotion outside of any of the sixty Official Malfoy Compounds. THIS MEANS YOU, GREAT-UNCLE PHILIP!").

He made as if to exit the store, but was spotted by someone he hadn't seen: Pansy Parkinson. Pansy had been in the dressing rooms when Draco came in and so she hadn't seen him. And the cashier's counter was blocked by a gaudy, sequined set of robes that were on display.

"Ooh, Drakey, I didn't see you, love!" she squealed. He winced. He'd been spotted by a girl who believed that they were boyfriend and girlfriend since the Yule Ball in fourth year, even though he'd been involved with Blaise Zambini heavily for the entirety of sixth year. This girl just didn't give up.

"Hello, Pansy," he said, weary of her clinginess.

"Hello. Did you see these absolutely adorable pink dress robes? I'm certain they'd look lovely on me at this year's Yule Ball..." she said. She might as well put "Hint, hint" at the end of her not-so-obvious attempt at coercing him into asking her to go to that year's ball.

"Frankly, I find pink a rather horrid color. Especially after seeing you wear it all the time except for when you're wearing the school robes. It reminds me of that potion--Pepto Stomach Heal-All--strongly. If you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to, Pansy," he said, wishing he had a bottle of that potion, because the robes she was wearing was too low-cut for him to look at without becoming queasy.

He fled from the store, starting the long trek back to Hogwarts. He felt thoroughly satisfied with himself and expected that his grades would be going up within the month.

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"Mademoiselle, here is your bag; you almost left it here!" cried the cashier, hurrying over to Hermione and Ginny as they were leaving the store.

"But...But...I, uh, didn't buy anything. And I have my purse..." said Hermione, mystified.

"Ah, oui, but young Monsieur Malfoy saw you trying on these emerald robes and he comes to me and says 'I want to buy those robes!'. And un, dieux, trois, voila! They are yours!" replied the energetic French wizard. He shoved the bag into Hermione's hands and retreated to the cash register.

Hermione looked at Ginny. "Malfoy bought me those robes? He must be trying to apologize, or it's a trick," she said as they hurriedly exited the shop and headed towards The Three Broomsticks.

They entered the pub and sat at a table, ordered butterbeer and smiled at two cute seventh year Ravenclaws, who grinned back.

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Harry and Ron pushed open the door to The Three Broomsticks, and looked around. They had been searching for Hermione ever since she disappeared with Ginny at ten in the morning, saying she would be back 'later'.

They'd gone all of her normal haunts and even went to Quality Quidditch Supplies, but to no avail. They had just come in for refreshment and to recharge before they continued their search.

Of course, their reason for wanting to find Hermione was that they wanted help on their latest Potions essay and homework for several other subjects, but that was beside the point. Hermione had left Hogwarts without them and hadn't specified when she was coming back, and hadn't even told them which pages to read!

They spotted her and Ginny sitting at a table with two of Ravenclaw's Chasers, Jon Hopkins and Evan McAlpin. They marched over to them and pulled two bar stools over to their table.

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"Hermione, where did you go?" asked Harry, interrupting her conversation with Evan. She turned to glare at him.

"Where I go and what I do isn't any of your business, Harry Potter!" she replied angrily. "And don't act hurt, I know you and Ron were only looking for me to make me help you with our Potions essay. I'm not that thick, you know." She gave them a hurt sort of look, which quickly vanished when she looked back at Evan. "Now go away. Evan and Jon were telling us about their recent Quidditch game."

Harry and Ron retreated, shocked to the core. Since when did Hermione care about Quidditch?