Weakness in Me (How Cliche)

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The saddest sound I've ever heard; the saddest sound I've ever heard.

The quiet that takes the place of silence that takes the place of your voice.

You're right reasons are dumb and I'm just talking too much.

- "Wasted" Letters to Cleo

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Hermione hated rumors. Especially when they were true.

Alas, a week after the incident in the library, the covert stalking had become outright annoying and bothering on the account of Draco Malfoy towards our dear Hermione. Flowers, chocolates, and a new edition of Hogwarts, a History (complete with gold embossed lettered- le sigh)- what more could a girl ask for?

For the bastard to just leave me alone, she thought solemnly, while poking at her mashed potatoes during dinner on a Friday. Harry and Ron hadn’t taken well to the extra attention she was receiving from the charming playboy of Hogwarts (or, uh, so she had heard he was a charming playboy, she really didn't know hereself). Even at this very moment they were whispering confidentially across from her very dispirited dinner plate, and casting Glares of Death to the bastard in question at the Slytherian table.

She didn’t know what their problem was. She could certainly handle herself.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her either. Any other girl would certainly be swooning and giggling incessantly at such attention. Not that Hermione wasn’t flattered. It was just, well, embarrassing. Especially for the Romantic Novice such as our kid Hermione.

She gave a quick glance in the direction of the Problem of Her Teenage Years (forget Voldemort- this was much more frightening). As she suspected, the stormy gray eyes met hers, and a smile lit his face, accompanied by a wink. She smiled back lightly, and fought hard to keep down the blush she just knew was rising up her neck and onto her cheeks. If this didn’t stop she’d start breaking out in hives.

Trapped in the gaze, Hermione didn’t know whether to look away like the nervous adolescent she was, or reclaim at least some of her dignity, and keep the contact. Her question was answered with the arrival of the Owl Post, and a rather suspicious looking parcel plopped in her potatoes, thus averting her gaze for the time being. She frowned a bit at having mail delivered during dinner, but she certainly appreciated the distraction. If she had kept looking any longer, she was afraid she might become poetic. And start thinking things about how she could get lost in the complicated depths of the cold slate gray, wandering the depths of his soul, while baring her own. How she felt like she would die if they ever broke eye contact, and would break into tears if those very same eyes ever directed a gaze of animosity in her direction again.

In other words, sappy, which led to dependence, which led to being pregnant at seventeen and losing a promising future to a husband and eventually eleven kids. Hermione almost retched at the idea.

Staring at the parcel, she sighed. Those were good potatoes.

However, before she open the package, which she already had a fairly good idea whom had sent it, it was snatched up by a familiar freckled hand, and taken into severe scrutiny by her two, supposed "best friends."

Perhaps she should be grateful that they were deciding to go on this counter campaign of opposition towards any romantic interest in herself. But then again, she worried that with such campaigns, she would end up a nun by the age of twenty. She sighed once again (something she seemed to be doing more and more often in this past week than she had ever remembered doing before).

The searching continued for moments more, before she broke in with the question "No bombs then?" She asked testily and pinned her gaze on the two conspiring boys.

They looked sheepishly at her, and smiled. "I think it’s safe. But then again, it’s from Malfoy," such a word said as if it was the worst profanity ever uttered from Ron. No surprise really. She wouldn’t ever really expect him to forgive Draco for any of his father’s sins.

Handing over the lumpy package, Hermione carefully examined the contents. A rock. Most romantic yet. But oh, on the side, scribbled in bright pink, "Pet Rock." And a note: "You’re new familiar." How sweet. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about sappy love notes of any kind. Hopefully. She cringed at the thought.

The gaze on her face must had alerted her self-proclaimed knights to the situation at hand. For Harry looked at her questioningly, and curled his lip at the "gift." "What are you going to do about that git anyway Hermione?" came the question that needed no specification as to whom the "git" in question was.

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you can’t like him can you? And dating him is obviously out of the question. Not that I ever imagined you dating anyone…." He trailed off and eyes widened as he caught the mistake. At least he had the decency to look at least moderately remorseful at the comment.

Hermione however, seethed. Never date anyone? NEVER DATE ANYONE? Ha! The one thing worse than a determined Hermione (which is what she always seemed to be), was an angry and determined Hermione.

Harry however, was desperately trying to make amends. "Uh, Hermione, I didn’t mean that."

"Then why did you say it?" Came the fiery reply.

He groaned, and uncomfortable silence stretched at their area of the table. Harry twiddled his thumbs, knowing full well he was in deep shit. On the opposite side, Hermione pinned a glare that could put even Snape to shame with it’s animosity. And Ron, poor, dear Ron, looked imploringly between them. "Uh, I think he meant, dear, dear Hermione, that, uh, you’ve always been so absorbed in your bookwork that we thought you would never have any time for a boyfriend. Or a scum like Malfoy for that matter."

Nice cover Ron. He was right, of course, but it still hurt. She didn’t know why, it was the truth as she had said before. But the very idea that even her beloved best friends thought her pitiful enough to never have a chance at a somewhat normal relationship- well, it was pathetic.

But brilliant, lovely Hermione was struck by a plan. That which would satiate Malfoy while ridding herself of such a reputation as Spinster at Seventeen.

She smiled sweetly at the both of them. "So you’re saying I would never date anyone?"

They nodded a bit hesitantly- sweetly smiling Hermione wasn’t an usual occurrence, and reminded them warily of a satiated female Black Widow, ready to due her instinctual duty to her male mate.

"Care to put some money on that?" There, she had done it, and the desired effect had come of it. Eyes widened, as of course they couldn’t have been expecting it.

Looking between each other, Ron and Harry took counsel, turning their backs to her.

"Conditions?" Came the reply a minute later, and Hermione’s shark-like smile widened.

"Two galleons that I get a boyfriend in one week."

"One galleon."

"One galleon 16 knuts."

Nodded affirmation. They shook hands, and Hermione smiled a smug, smarmy smile. Grabbing her bag, she looked across the Great Hall to Malfoy, and with a tinge of guilt at the manipulative edge to what she was about to do. She brushed it aside however. She doubted he wouldn’t do the very same.

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"Right then Malfoy, you- me, boy friend- girlfriend. What do you say?" There, she had said it. And despite her clammy hands, trembling legs, and the squeaky hint to her voice, she thought all in all, considering she was inexperienced to this whole new fangled "dating" thing, it went rather well.

Until he looked up with a bewildered look upon his face from the book he had been reading at the same desk in the library at which they had conversed earlier.

Then came that smirk on his face. The beautiful, but infuriating look on his face. "Is this a word association game?" The smarmy git. He was bloody well making it hard for her. The gray orbs danced with suppressed laughter, and certain arrogance she was sure he felt about the situation.

She simply rolled her eyes. "No. It’s a proposition."

"Ah." He replied with a smile and leaned back, linking his hands behind his head. "I knew you’d give in eventually. Everyone does. Can’t say I blame them really. A sexy boy like me? Rejected? Simply unheard of." The smugness absolutely radiated off his voice and made Hermione want to scratch her skin till it was raw. And then scratch some more.

"Look Malfoy, I’m not ‘giving in’ as you elegantly put it. It’s a bet. And you seemed convenient." She visibly cringed after she spit that last bit out. Maybe she really did need medical treatment for this sort of thing. A prescription against Malfoy- there’s something.

His eyes narrowed, and now Hermione was really regretting having said such a thing. "Ah." The mirth was gone, and all flirtatiousness she had become accustomed to this year was gone from the gray depths of his stare.

"Uh, not that way. I mean, I would have gone out with you anyway, I’m just…. Or, er, there just doesn’t seem to be that many boys that compare to your stature…. Wait, no, I mean, no one would want to go out with me, and uh, I’ll share the winnings with you?" His eyes darkened as she went on in a flustered bout of half-meant apologies, looking bashfully at the table. And she was sure she looked like a red tomato with frizzy hair by now. "Oh bugger." She finished with a resigned sigh.

The book slammed loudly, and without saying a word, Draco stood up, gathered his things, and brushed past her in a palpable fury.

Minutes later she winced at the slamming of the library doors.

"Bloody bugger." She said in the silence that remained, looking down at the utterly unhelpful pet rock she didn’t even know she had been carrying.

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