Weakness in Me (How Cliche)

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Oh the pessimistic protection plan

The moderation loving

I've been hardened by the circumstance

We knew this was coming

- "Suspension Without Suspense" No Doubt

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Trudging disheartened back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione replayed the scene over and over in her head. For being the top student, she certainly wasn’t very intelligent when it came dealing with her own romantic quandaries. Plus, she felt terrible. She really hadn’t meant to sound so cruel and heartless to perhaps the one boy she ever found marginally interesting. Or the one boy she ever found herself harboring romantic feelings for. Oh sure, she had a little crush on Ron years before, but it was squashed quickly like a squirrel underneath the tire of a minivan after finding his conversational skills lacked beyond the topics of Quidittch, girls, and food.

Draco, however, was smart. Intelligent she surmised. Anyone that loved Arithmancy had to be. So then, why was it the idea of a relationship with him, or with any boy for that matter made her cringe in pain?

Well, anyone would say she was a lesbian. However, she most certainly was not. Not that she had anything against that, of course. It just didn’t capsize her canoe.

Hermione really didn’t know why relationships scared her. Perhaps she was scared of commitment- plausible and certainly true. Or maybe she wasn’t interested in romance at all- sound reason, however, untrue as she often liked to discreetly borrow some of Lavender’s romance novel (even if she found the idea disgraceful). A sinking feeling, however, told her it was the inexperience. Perfect Granger, the know-it-all, was the know-nothing-at-all when it came to complications of the heart.

Looking back on the revelation, she mused that if this didn’t end soon, she would end up in expensive therapy by the age of nineteen.

Hermione sighed, and looked dejectedly as she came upon the Fat Lady. No doubt Ron and Harry would be inside the very entryway, waiting eagerly for news of her first attempt of the amorous persuasion.

Setting her shoulders, chin high, she said the password ("feet fungus"), and braved the stone and mortar that made the wall of the Entryway to Her Adolescent Doom.

And it did live up to its name. The familiar red and black hair that adorned the heads of her two best friends swiveled at the sound of her entrance, and lit up at the glum look on her face. The sinister expressions soon replaced the grin, and Hermione felt the dread of an antelope under the gaze of two lions ready to pounce.

"No luck then Hermione?" Ron said first, and stood up, rounding the couch in front of the fire to come to the front of her. She simply glared, and she had the distinct feeling of pouting, though firmly squashed by the new fangled thing called "reason."

"Oh, poor poor Hermione," Harry said, and did pout, however mocking and over-exaggerated it was.

"Look at it this way Herm" Gods how she hated that hated that nickname when used in taunting. "More time to devote to us! Oh and your bookwork." Ron smiled an infuriating smile that reminded her of Draco. She brushed aside the mutinous thought that brought fresh pain to her chest.

She instead rolled her eyes warily and said nothing. Neither took the hint however, and Harry continued the tirade. "Well, I guess you’d be handing over the money now then? Can’t say I blame you. Hopeless effort really."

Something snapped, and Hermione regained the former fury she had exhibited only hours earlier in the Great Hall. Her eyes narrowed, and their grins faltered.

"Whoever said I was quitting. Minor setback is all." Crossing her arms brusquely, she strode past the boys of her youth.

A hand caught her shoulder, and she spun around to the gazes of brown and green. "Raise the stakes then? Two galleons and five sickles?"

It seemed wrong. To bet on someone’s emotions. Emotions that included her own. However, characteristically Gryffindor (ergo stupid) pride won out, and she shook each right hand readily, before stomping her way up the cold stone stairs, which led to her cold bed, and cold thoughts over the injustice of it all.

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On the beginning of the true Day One, Hermione looked solemnly at her coin purse. She had the idea that it wasn’t often girls tried to win the hearts of boys with gifts. However, Hermione could some up with no good idea. Lavender, Parvati, or any other of the infamous girls of her dormitory were not to be trusted with any information regarding her plans. If she simply told them she was after Draco Malfoy, they would squeal with delight and rumors would run rampant in the halls. But if she told them it was a bet, rumors would still form inbounds, but of the more distasteful style.

So, Hermione was left on her own, with no books for consultation, no helpful advice from a friend, and no previous experience of her own. But, Hermione was determined. And her mother had always told her determination was half the battle. Of course the other half was always knowledge, or a good bottle of whisky. Of which, Hermione had neither. Minor details she thought.

However, she had absolutely no idea what a Malfoy, Draco no less, would want. What did any boy want? Something with Quidittch perhaps. She doubted Draco was immune to the disease of Quidittch, but what could be bought from it? She hardly knew anything beyond he played seeker, and wished Harry would fall of his broomstick during every game. That was hardly helpful in areas such as favorite team, player, etc.

An idea struck Hermione, and she found it rather unpleasant in the least at what it entailed. Crabbe and Goyle had to know something about Draco. They were around him often enough she supposed. However, it was quickly discarded as she knew neither of them possessed any sentience beyond that of an amoeba.

Tapping her chin thoughtfully, and biting her lip from habit, Hermione relaxed in a sitting position on her bed, and made a thoughtful noise. Someone in Slytherian had to be privy to at least some information of her so-called "beloved." He couldn’t be so mysterious and anti-social, surely.

Someone of a pure-blood family, that would have conversed with Draco from the early years in the infamous dealings of their parents. Think Granger…. There. Blaise Zambini. Smiling triumphantly, Hermione head in the direction of the exit, a busy day of scouring for a Slytherian ahead of her.

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It wasn’t often Blaise Zambini found himself in the presence of another, particularly a female Gryffindor by the name of Hermione Granger. Not that he was anti-social or anything, he just found people as a whole annoying.

Five minutes into the conversation with Granger, however, he was considering becoming a hermit.

"So basically," he began, linking long, olive colored fingers in front of his Grecian nose that was held in a Grecian face that included full, pouty lips, almond brown eyes, and was framed by a head of short, dark curls. "You do have feelings for him, but you’re too prideful to admit it, and are using this bet as a reason to get laid?"

He almost laughed as she rolled her eyes haughtily in her seat across from him. "That is exactly not it. And you know it."

A half-smile turned the edge of his mouth. Laying his arms casually on the piles of papers and books in front of him, he considered for a moment what she had presented to him. Two sickles a week for his help in useful information, mundane information, and useless information about Draco Malfoy along with the occasional bit of advice. It was wrong to become a cohort to this sort of thing, especially to the closest thing he’d ever had to a best friend (Blaise didn’t do best friends very well). But really, he needed the money. And being a typical teenage male, he looked out for his mate’s best interests. And let’s face it, he surmised in his head, Malfoy needs to get some action before he starts turning to maiming gerbils for amusement.

She did look hopeful as well, staring at him with those wide brown eyes, and pouting bottom lips. He supposed he could put aside his aversion to at least some of his species for a time.

Staring wincingly down at his homework, an idea came to mind. "All right. But under one condition." She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, but still smiled at his concession.

He took her silence as reason to continue. "You help me with Transfiguration. I’m bloody hopeless as it."

She smiled brightly. Somehow, he knew mention of schoolwork would have that affect on her. Somewhere in the back of his mind however, Blaise didn’t mind so much.

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"Favorite Quidittch team?" Blaises voice cut through the otherwise empty corner of the library later that afternoon.

"The Manchester Mongooses." Came the answer from Hermione, who seemed to be heartily enjoying the quiz. Blaise always knew she was a strange girl.

"Favorite color."

She rolled her eyes. She didn’t need Blaise to tell her. "Black."

He nodded. "Boxers or briefs."

Her nose wrinkled. "Boxers." She really didn’t understand why she needed to know that, but in the pursuit of two galleons and five sickles, she shrugged the little thought aside.

"Extra credit. Name his childhood safety blanket."

Both grinned at the slightest mention of Malfoy ever having a safety blanket. "Mr. Winkles." A few giggles escaped her, and Blaise couldn’t help but let his grin widened into a true smile.

Hermione’s smiled faltered moments later as she pondered a new problem. "What should I buy him?" She never was one for the subtlety of conversation.

Blaise considered it in his mind. Malfoy was wealthy, and really wasn’t in need of gifts of any kind. Or wanted anything that he didn’t already have. What could you give the boy that had nearly everything? Blaise’s grin became sinister as snippets of childhood memories came back.

"When do you need it by?" Came the reply in the form of a question (just like Jeopardy).

"Soon as possible." She stated succinctly.

Rolling it over in his mind, he found the solution. "Three sickles, and I’ll get it for you."

She eyed him warily. He simply rolled his eyes. "Trust me. Just make a note pouring your heart out to him, or whatever it is people do when giving someone a gift, and meet me at the Owlery Monday morning."

She nodded, and smiled at him a bit hesitantly. "Thanks Blaise."

He didn’t really expect the thanks, but nodded in return, and gathered his things. "See you later then." He wasn’t sure what else to say in return, and the situation was a bit awkward once the realized the true state of things. A Slytherian and Gryffindor, talking romantic matters in the library and probably sharing more intimate gestures than most inter-house relations. He sighed, and wondered what he had gotten in to.

Hermione however, didn’t move, after gathering her bag as well. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably, and looked ready to ask something. "Would you like to, I mean, does this means, we’re kind of, sort of acquaintances now?"

Blasphemous! Cried the inner part of his mind at the mention of something against his strict worship of the Doctrine of Blaisism. He squashed it for no known reason other than he felt it deserved a good squashing.

He shrugged. "I guess."

She smiled a bit more surely now. "Toodles then."

"Bye." Then wandered in different directions. Did she really just say toodles?

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