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Some Blond Fool	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 46884 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Author�s Note:� This
was a case of the plot bunny that wouldn�t die.�
It�s a complete AU and something I wouldn�t normally write, but the idea
wouldn�t leave me alone.� I decided to
just have fun with it. As the summary indicates, Hermione is going to score
both Malfoy gents, but I won�t reveal which one she�ll
end up with, if she ends up with either of them at all.� You�ll just have to read and find out!�

Hermione wanted to kill
something.� She had a very good idea of
what that something was, too, but she�d never have the satisfaction.

�� I cannot
believe you wouldn�t tell me this!� she said, her voice bordering on
hysteria.� In the wake of her
declaration, Harry Potter wore a look that said he�d rather be facing Voldemort.

�� I didn�t
know, Hermione.� I swear I didn�t!�

�� You�re his
best friend!� How could you not know?�

�� Look,
believe whatever you want, but if I had known I would have said
something.�� He said it with that air of
finality that he�d adopted somewhere around fifth year.� It was that attitude that he couldn�t waste
time arguing, nor could he change someone�s mind that didn�t want to be
changed.� That was how he was now; he
stated his opinion, told you what you could do with yours, and that was
that.� Noticing the way her lips trembled
and the ominous glaze of tears in her eyes, he softened.� �Hermione, I�ve got two best friends in this
world and you�re one of them.� If the
other one was doing anything to hurt you, you know I�d beat the snot out of
him.�

�� The anger
drained out of her and she sat down abruptly.�
�I just�I don�t understand why he��

�� He sat
beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.� �I don�t either.� He�s an idiot, Hermione.�� She nodded into his chest, her tears seeping
warmly into his robe.� Harry didn�t need
to say more; he knew well enough that this sort of physical comfort was better
than any speech.� They sat that way for
perhaps fifteen minutes, until the door opening and closing brought them both
back to reality.

�� Hermione
sat up automatically, wiping her face and attempting to smooth her hair.� Harry wondered why women always tried to make
it look like they hadn�t just been bawling.�
If he was going to cry, damn it, he was going to have a right good sob
and nothing and no one would interrupt it.�
It was an infrequent occurrence, but one that he had never been ashamed
of.

�� Harry, I�m
hungry, do you want to order--� Ginny stopped abruptly as she entered the room
and noticed Hermione.� Her eyes narrowed
as she took in her friend�s state.� Then
she set an imperious glare upon Harry and demanded, �What did my brother do?�

Hermione sighed and tried to enjoy the warm summer evening
as she walked back to her flat.� It really
was beautiful out.� It would be more
beautiful if Ron hadn�t cheated on her with the whole world as an audience,
courtesy of Witch Weekly.� She strongly
suspected that Rita Skeeter had been biding her time,
waiting for something to use for payback against the girl that had blackmailed
her.� Hermione had no ammunition to
return the favor, since Rita had admitted two years before that she was an animagus and had registered herself properly.

�� She at
least had the satisfaction of knowing that Ron would be in for hell when he
dared to show his face.� Ginny was
incensed, and though Harry tried very hard to avoid conflict these days, she
knew he was angry, too.

�� After that
brief flare of rage at Harry�s, she wasn�t angry anymore.� She knew she ought to be.� Instead, she just felt like curling up
somewhere and wallowing.� And why
shouldn�t she?� Other people were allowed
to indulge in behavior like that, so why not her?� Driven by illogical whim, Hermione detoured
into the nearest pub.

The world was spiraling, and she
was at the bottom looking up.� Were those
her feet she was tripping over?� Oh, and
a pair of arms holding her up�who was that?�
She was being dragged through a doorway and experienced a surreal moment
as her head knocked against the frame.�
She felt it, but didn�t feel it.�
It was interesting to observe her own injury with as much care as she
would have watched someone on television fall down the stairs.

�� Ah�shit,
sorry.�

�� Past the
doorway now, and there was a second voice.

�� Are you
out of your mind?�

�� What was I
supposed to do, leave her there?�

�� Couldn�t
you have brought her to her own flat?�

�� I don�t
know where it is and she isn�t exactly coherent enough to tell me.�

�� She was
handed off to a second pair of arms.�
These felt different, but not unsafe.

�� What are
you doing?�

�� Preparing the guest room.�

�� Where are
you going to sleep, then?�

�� The couch.�

�� A snort.� �I think the
drunken pity-case can have the couch.�

�� Cut her a
break.�� A pause and
some unidentified shuffling noises.�
�You�ve been a drunken pity-case once or twice yourself, you know.�

�� The hands
tightened slightly around her, but they weren�t hurtful.� She was grateful for them because in their
absence she would have been on the floor.�
�Careful or I�ll throw you both out.�

�� The other
ignored him.� She was moving suddenly,
propelled by both of them.� Either they
were moving very fast, or her feet had completely stopped responding to her
brain.

�� Give me
that bin.�� The second
voice.

�� Oh god,
you don�t think she�s going to throw up, do you?�

�� If she
doesn�t, I�m the Minister of Magic.� And
you�re cleaning it up.�

�� The first
half-groaned, half-sighed.� She was being
arranged in the bed now.

�� Hermione,�
the first said, �Hermione, listen.�� He
knew her name?� Oh, that was fortunate,
right?� �If you feel like you�re going to
be sick there�s a bin here.� The bathroom
is��

�� But
she would never know, because at that moment she blacked out.

�� She woke to
the smell of coffee and sunlight determinedly penetrating the blinds.� Her first instinct was to turn over and drown
it out, but as she summoned her leaden limbs to move, she realized that she had
no idea where she was.� The last thing
she remembered�was the pub and a cute blonde.

�� Oh,
hell.� She had gotten rip-roaringly drunk
and gone home with someone.� Well, it
served Ron right, but she wasn�t sure how she felt about it.� It wasn�t the sort of thing she did.� What if he wanted to try to date her after
this?� She was still married to Ron, for
now� Oh sweet Merlin�what if she was pregnant?�
What if the mystery blond had some kind of disease?� This was why she prided herself on not doing what other people did in these
kinds of situations�

�� Hermione
took a breath.� Presumably, given the
scent of coffee and the sound of someone moving around beyond the door, he was
still here.� All right, she would gather
her clothes � wait, she was still wearing her clothes.� She was fully dressed.� Maybe she hadn�t slept with him?� Hermione stuck a hand up her skirt and
assessed things.� No, she hadn�t slept
with anyone last night.� Thank God.� And thank whoever this kind man was, for
having her completely incapacitated and not taking advantage of it.

�� If there
was a clear path to the door she could try to sneak out without facing
him.� But no, he had done a nice thing,
bringing her here and not molesting her.�
Oh, wait a bleeding minute, why should he be declared a nice guy for
behaving normally?� He was the one who�d pumped her full of
booze, after all.� He wasn�t faultless.

�� She sat up
and instantly regretted it.� Somehow her
stillness had kept the raging hangover at bay.�
Not so anymore.� A sharp,
throbbing headache made itself evident behind her eyes and her stomach did a
cartwheel.� Her entire body felt heavy
and sore.� She�d be lucky if she made it
home without vomiting.� It was then that
she noticed the bin near the bed.� Oh
lord, it had been used.� She had barfed
in this poor man�s bin.� She couldn�t
leave it for him to clean up, could she?�
That would be horribly wrong, right?

�� She was
just going to have to face the music.�
Hermione picked up the offensive-smelling bin and began to move
cautiously.� She had been hungover once or twice before and knew very well that a
sudden movement could be enough to make her stomach rebel again.� So far, so good, but she was staggering a
little more than she was comfortable with.�
God, was she still drunk?

�� She made it
out of the bedroom.� She was completely
disoriented. �This man�s flat was
gargantuan!� She heard his voice, deep
and smooth; presumably he was on the phone.�
She followed the voice.� Once she
found him, the real embarrassment would begin.

�� By the time
she reached the kitchen, he was done with his conversation.� She stood in the doorway and took him
in.� Well, at least in her grief-induced
alcoholism she had good taste.� The back
side of him was good to look at.� He was
tall, a few inches over six feet, with a strong frame and a very nice rear end.� And that hair � it was better than she
remembered.� It was pale and lustrous,
though she hadn�t recalled it being this long.

�� His spine
straightened in a way that meant he was aware of her presence.� Now he would turn and she would see the face
of the man that might have been the key to her revenge.� She hoped the pleasantry of his rear
continued in the front.

�� It
did.� On yes, it did.� But this was a face she knew.� A face she hated.� A face she never thought she�d see again,
except if it was glaring from the front of the Daily Prophet with some bleak
headline.� Lucius
Malfoy.� Merlin
help her, Lucius Malfoy!

�� His look
was neutral, betraying nothing until the bin began to slip from her hands.� Then his eyes widened.

�� The bin--!�

�� It was too
late.� The bin hit the floor, and of
course its contents splattered, because if they hadn�t it wouldn�t be the truly
horrific nightmare it was turning out to be.�
He cringed and closed his eyes and took two deep breaths.� He looked like he was trying to find reasons
not to kill her.

�� For once in
her life Hermione�s brain failed her.�
Instinct took over and her hands went to the sides of her head and she
screamed.� Long and loud and at the top of
her lungs, she screamed.

�� He appeared
unaffected when she finally ran out of air.�
�Are you quite finished?� he asked sharply.� Evidently the bastard had expected this
reaction.

�� Anger
overwhelmed her panic.� She opened her
mouth to shout at him.� But as soon as
she did, her stomach did another cartwheel and a few back handsprings.� Vomit was imminent.� He had expected this, too, apparently.� With an expression of distaste he pointed and
said, �Third door on the left.�

�� Whatever
she wanted to say to him, it would have to wait.� Hermione turned and ran, flinging open the
third door on the left and only just making it to the toilet.

�� She stayed
in the bathroom a long time, regrouping.�
This was a hundred times worse than she thought.� She wanted
to hate him, but things didn�t entirely compute.� Even drunk she would have known if she was
flirting with Lucius Malfoy.� Why would he be in a muggle
pub, anyway?� So how had she come to be
in his flat, supremely embarrassed but unharmed?

�� Gathering
the tattered ends of her composure, she emerged. �He was, of all places, in the kitchen
alternately arguing with someone on a Bluetooth earpiece and cleaning up her vomit.

�� Franz, I�m
telling you that these numbers aren�t adding up,� he was saying.� �No.��
Pause.� �I don�t know!� Look at your employees.� Maybe someone is embezzling.�� Pause.�
�How should I know?�

�� Her brain
stalled at the image.� Why was he using a
cell phone?� Why was he actually cleaning
with a mop?� Couldn�t he just wave his
wand and �

�� Oh.� Right.� After the war Lucius
Malfoy had cut a deal with the Wizengamot.� Instead of going back to Azkaban, he gave up
his wand for the remainder of his sentence.�
There had been something like nine years left, and with six gone by�it
would be three more years before he got his wand back.� It seemed he had adjusted.

�� No, Franz,
I will not audit your employees for free,� he said in a tone of bored sarcasm,
interrupting her train of thought.� As
the other man spoke, that intangible sixth sense told him he was not alone.� He turned.�
�I will call you back and we can negotiate fees.�� He fished the phone out of his pocket � an iPhone, naturally, because Malfoys
always had to have the newest and best, didn�t they �
and hung up.

�� He pulled
the earpiece off and tossed it on the table.�
Then he fixed her in a penetrating glare.� A million questions burst in her head.� Strangely, it seemed that he was actually waiting for her to ask them.� But when nothing made it past her lips, he
shook his head.

�� Well.� I think you can finish this.�� He handed her the mop, and as much as she
wanted to by angry at him, she couldn�t be.�
It was her vomit, after
all.� He seemed about to say something
else when the phone rang.� He couldn�t
contain an annoyed sigh and a roll of his eyes.�
Wait, was his ringtone � was that a Radiohead song?� This
was surreal.

�� He picked
up the earpiece and brushed past her.�
Evidently it was Franz and he didn�t like being dismissed.� Was�was Malfoy
working a muggle job, too?� Lord knew he had enough money to do nothing
for nine years, and she would have thought that he�d consider muggle work below him.�
Boredom was powerful, though.� And
from the sounds of things he was dealing with money.� Nothing made a Malfoy
happier than that.

�� Hermione
mopped up the remainder of the mess.�
What was happening here?� Normally
she would have bolted the second she realized it was him, puddle of puke be
damned.� Malfoy
was being civil to her; shouldn�t he have kicked her out?� Why would he help her in the first
place?� Damn it, her head hurt badly
enough without the mountain of questions!

�� As an
afterthought she washed out the bin.� It
seemed like the right thing to do.� When
she was done she was looking around for a towel when the hairs on her neck
stood on end.� He was watching her this
time.� He leaned in the door frame, arms
crossed.

�� Draco should be here with a hangover potion soon,� he
commented.

�� He�I�� Hermione shut her mouth before any more
stammered half-replies could escape.�
They had all made their peace with Draco after
the war, but they weren�t friends.

�� I�m sure
you were wondering how you got here.� Draco was walking from the train station and saw you in the
window of the pub.� Apparently some blonde
fool was trying to get you to leave with him.�

�� In spite of
the fact that he was very nicely clearing up a large black hole in her memory, Hermione
felt a bit put off by his tone.� It was
patronizing � like a parent talking to a twelve year old.� �Maybe I wanted to go with him,� she
retorted.� She hadn�t, if her reaction to
waking up in a strange place an hour ago was any indication, but she wasn�t
going to admit that.

�� He rolled
his startlingly blue eyes.� �Such gratitude.� In
any case, you got two blonde fools that are, I must say, vastly superior.�

�� She could
only gawk at him.� In spite of his
sarcasm, he seemed�amenable.� The beep of
his phone gave her a reprieve.� He took
it out of his pocket and scanned a text message with a slight frown.

�� Are
you�are you working?� she worked up the courage to ask.� She tried not to sound too incredulous.� It was Thursday, after all � people with jobs
would have to be working.

�� Attempting to, yes.� Hungover
houseguests and all.�� He didn�t
look up as he entered a reply.� He was
practiced at this.� He
probably texted better than her.� It was ridiculous how�muggle he had become.� Though she supposed he didn�t have a choice
without his wand.� No, that wasn�t
true.� He could have stayed at Malfoy Manor, surrounded by his wealth and magic.� Why was he out here, seemingly on his own and
so nonchalant about living without magic?

�� What sort
of job?� she asked carefully.� One question at a time, until his patience ran out.

�� He
shrugged.� �Finances, accounting�same
thing I did before.� Money is money, be
it pounds or galleons.�

�� That made
sense.� She had never been quite sure of
what job he did at the Ministry, but accounting seemed to fit him.� �Franz is�?� she asked.� Oh, how she hoped that Lucius
Malfoy had a muggle boss!

�� Franz is a
client.� A very
neurotic client.�� The phone beeped
again and he pointedly ignored it.� �He�s
one of seven.� Five muggle, two magical.�

�� That blew
her away.� Who in the wizarding
world would want Lucius Malfoy
to do their accounts?� He was a convicted
Death Eater who wasn�t exactly known for his honesty.� Well, scratch that � she could think of a few
Slytherins who would appreciate a slippery
accountant.

�� This is
unreal.� You�re talking to me like�like
I�m a person,� she said, unable to moderate herself.

�� He quirked an eyebrow.�
�Was I wrong in that assessment?�
Are you a hippogriff in disguise?�

�� She shook
her head, smiling for the first time.� It
seemed that living without magic had done him a lot of good.� She tried to imagine six years without a
wand, and even though she had lived nearly eleven without one already, she
found that she couldn�t comprehend it.�
He had adapted quite well.

�� Well, in
spite of your digestive pyrotechnics, it�s lunch time and I�m hungry,� he
announced, stepping into the kitchen.�
�Do you want something?�

�� Her stomach
flinched at the mere thought of food.�
She shook her head, grimacing.

�� Feel free
to shower.� I highly recommend that,� he
said dryly.� She was ready to be
offended, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the stainless steel
refrigerator.� She was an absolute
fright.� �Towels are in the closet next
to the bathroom.� I don�t have any
clothing for you, but I can dig something up if you are really averse to
putting your dirty outfit back on.�� He
was rummaging in a cabinet, talking as if she hung around in his flat every
day.� �Then do whatever you want until Draco gets here.� I�m on the computer, but there should be
something on television to entertain you.��
He emerged from the cabinet with a jar of jam and flashed a smile.� �I have satellite.� �

�� I�thanks.�� She didn�t
know what else to say.� It seemed that
every time he opened his mouth, he flummoxed her.

�� He nodded
and began to make himself lunch.� He had
slices of a baguette with raspberry jam and brie.� If she hadn�t been ready to vomit at any
moment, it would have been extremely tantalizing.

�� No house
elves?� she asked, realizing how odd it was that he was making his own food.

�� I can�t
have anything that I could compel to do magic for me,� he answered, not missing
a beat.� �It�s not much of a loss.�

�� Hermione
blinked.� Maybe she was
hallucinating.� This couldn�t be Lucius Malfoy.� She was not standing in the elder Malfoy�s flat.� He
was not discussing his life with her while sending text messages.� She was asleep at home, that had to be
it.� The last forty-eight hours had been
a bad dream.� This was her mind gone off
the deep end.

�� But she
found, as she stripped in the strange bathroom and stepped into the shower,
that the hot needles of water were all too real.

�� Forty
minutes later Hermione emerged, feeling clean but not much better other than
that.� She picked up her clothes, fully
intending to put them back on, but then she caught a whiff.� Oh, God.�
They reeked of liquor and cigarettes, to the point that it made her
stomach turn.� If she wanted to keep
herself from regurgitating again she was going to need something else.� Oh, this was embarrassing.� The only way to do this was to go out in the
towel.

�� She wrapped
it tightly around her body.� Thankfully,
it was a huge, plush towel that was long enough to reach the middle of her
calves.� Taking a deep breath, she
stepped out into the hallway and followed his voice again.�

�� He was
talking to another client, this time in fast, fluent French.� She knew a little but couldn�t catch anything
he said; financial terms were not part of that limited vocabulary.� Amazingly, he didn�t seem to want to make her
squirm.� Either that or he was too busy
to milk the sheer humiliation of the entire situation.� He stood up, not pausing in his negotiation,
and ducked into the nearest door on the right.�
He emerged two minutes later, still
talking (it seemed like he�d barely taken a breath!), and dropped a pile of
clothing into her arms.� Then he
disappeared back into his office and closed the door.

�� She found
her way back to the guest room after a startled moment.� She had really expected him to try to
embarrass her as much as he could.� It
left her feeling curiously petty; was she wrong to expect so little of him?� Hermione shook her head and tried to clear
the errant thoughts.� He had given her
pajamas.� How clich�although she
supposed it was the only thing he didn�t mind her possibly throwing up on.� It was extremely odd, though, to be slipping
into Lucius Malfoy�s
too-large pajamas.� This was what he
slept in.� In his bed.� Oh, God.

�� Hermione
shook her head.� This was what alcohol
did to her.� It caused her to find the
thought of Lucius Malfoy in
bed exciting.� Well, his pajamas were
very comfortable, in any case, and she was going to take advantage of his
satellite tv.� She didn�t watch nearly enough of it these
days.

�� She was
stretched across the couch, deeply involved in a rerun of Footballer�s Wives,
when Draco arrived.�
He strode in, stopped, and looked from her to the door of his father�s
office and back.� She was equally fascinated
with him; she hadn�t seen Draco in years.� He was as tall as his father and had finally
taken ownership of his looks.

�� Here,� he
said at last, holding out a slim vial of blue potion.� �We thought you might need this.�

�� She took it
and downed it quickly.� The effect was
instant; her headache evaporated and her stomach felt settled.� �Thanks.�
For the potion and for helping me last night.� I wouldn�t have--� her eyes fell on the copy
of Witch Weekly at the top of the stack of papers in his hand.� �Oh sweet Merlin, what is that?!� she
shrieked.

�� I don�t
know, I didn�t--� he unfolded it.�
�Oh.�� They both looked at the
picture on the cover, and for good reason; it was the two of them together, Draco�s arm around her waist and her head leaning on his
shoulder.� It was taken from such an
angle that it looked, for all intents and purposes, that they were holding one
another amorously. �It was blurry enough
that it hid her extreme intoxication and what was likely an annoyed expression
on his face, but they were definitely recognizable.� The headline proclaimed �GRANGER COMFORTED BY
FORMER SCHOOL ENEMY!!!�

�� The door to
Lucius�s office opened.� �I heard your dulcet tones.� Everything all right?�� Neither of them was sure whose dulcet tones
he was referring to.

�� I picked
this up for Mum, and�,� Draco answered, holding up
the copy of Witch Weekly.� Lucius strode over and took the flimsy magazine.

�� Hm.� It would seem that someone has it in for you,
Miss Granger.�

�� Hermione
sat down heavily on the couch, fighting tears.�
�It�s that miserable Rita Skeeter.� She has a vendetta against me.� She was waiting
for something to use against me.�

�� It seems
your husband obliged.�

�� She looked
up, startled.� It was Draco
who had said it, but she would have expected it from Lucius.� It was the sort of thing he would say.� Apparently Draco
was taking up the torch of obnoxiousness.

�� That�s why
you�re being nice to me,� she said, looking back and forth between the two of
them.� �Because you
know.�

�� Well, we
don�t live under a rock.� Everyone
knows.�

�� You know
that Ronald Weasley cheated on me�and you�re not
mocking me ruthlessly?�

�� That would
be most insensitive,� Lucius said, but he was hiding
a smile behind his hand.

�� Well
I�m glad you two enjoy my misfortune.��
She stood up and stuck her nose in the air.� �Thank you for assisting me last night and
for the potion today.� I�m sorry I
vomited in your flat. �I�ll be going
now.�� And I�m taking your pajamas with me, you miserable git,
she thought. ��

Neither of them impeded her as she
stormed out of the flat.� She had put her
own shirt back on after spraying it healthily with cologne she�d found in the
bathroom.� She registered that this was
what Lucius smelled like on a daily basis.� The fool; he didn�t need cologne, as he had
charisma. �It didn�t smell bad, though -
much better than booze and cigarettes.

�� So she was
walking down the street in an innocuous white shirt, his navy blue pajama
bottoms that were so long that they pooled around her feet, and her battered
black flip flops.� She had shoved her
other clothing into her mercifully large purse and the borrowed top was tied
around her waist.� It was another
beautiful day.� Happy people strolled by,
mocking her with their contentment.

�� Granger!� Hey, Granger!�

�� Oh no.� Which one was it?� They sounded so alike now.� She whirled, annoyed, and came face to face
with Draco.�
She wasn�t sure if that was better or worse.

�� What?� she
demanded.

�� You left
this.�� He held out a hand.� It was her cell phone.� She only kept it so that she could talk to
her parents; understandably, they found it hard to get used to owls.� Some of her childhood friends were in there,
as well � the few she�d stayed in touch with.

�� Oh.� Thank you.��
She took it and turned to resume her walk.

�� Hermione,
I�m sorry,� Draco said.� �What I said was unkind.�

�� She
sighed.� �Yeah, but it�s true.� I might as well get used to that.� I mean, pretty soon people are going to be
saying much worse because they all think I�m fleeing to you for comfort.�

�� I don�t
get it.� Shouldn�t everyone be
sympathetic with you and not the
Weasel?�

�� She
chuckled.� Clearly he had never
experienced Rita Skeeter�s ability to play her
readers like a harp.� �You�ll see, Draco.� You�ll get
the fallout, too.�

�� She turned
to go, but his hand around her wrist stopped her.� He was smirking.� �If it�s going to be a scandal we may as well
give them something that�ll really blow their minds.�� And before she could respond, he lowered his
lips to hers and kissed her.

�� Hermione
didn�t recall how she got home.� Right, it
was a cab that Draco had hailed for her.� Jesus Christ, she had to stop thinking about
the way he kissed.� It wasn�t real.� He was only doing it to taunt the intrusive
media and probably to taunt Ron; she knew that nothing in the world would make
Ron more infuriated than her being romantically involved with Malfoy.� But oh my,
could Draco Malfoy
kiss.� Or maybe it was that it had been a
long time since she�d been with someone who could; she knew her husband wasn�t
the world�s greatest kisser.� Just for a
minute, then, she could think about how Malfoy�s lips
had brushed hers with just the right amount of pressure and how his tongue
attacked and retreated with a veiled promise�

�� There were
eleven owls outside her flat.� Oh, hell,
it was starting already and that issue had only been out one day!� Her cell phone had seventeen missed calls and
three voicemails.� They were probably all
her mother; she�d left her a sobbing message.

�� She decided
on the lesser of two evils.� She would
get to the owls tomorrow; no doubt half of them were from readers of Witch
Weekly and the other half from her friends, berating her for going anywhere
near Malfoy.�
Instead, she listened to her mother�s voicemails and then started to
dial her number.� As she did, the phone
beeped.� A text
message.� No, a
media message.� Curious, she
opened it.

�� A song
began to play.� It was vaguely familiar.

Now listen I think you
and me

Have come to the end
of our time,

What do you want, some kind of reaction?

Well, OK, that's fine.

Alright, how would it make you feel

If I said you that you
never made me come?

In the year and a half that we spent together,

Yeah, I never really had much fun.

I never wanted it to end up this way,

You've only got yourself to blame,

I'm gonna tell the world you're rubbish in bed now

And that you're small in the game.

�� In spite of
herself she was smiling.� Someone had
sent her an angry breakup song.� It was
probably one of her girlfriends from home, but when she checked the number it
was one that she didn�t recognize.�
Hermione frowned.� She had no idea
who had sent it.

I saw you thought this
was gonna be easy,

Well, you're out of luck.

Yeah, let's rewind, let's turn back time

To when you couldn't
get it up,

You know what it should've ended there,

That's when I should've shown you the door.

As if that weren't enough to deal with,

You became premature.

I'm sorry if you feel that I'm being kinda mental,

But you left me in such a state.

But now I'm gonna do what you did to me,

Gonna reciprocate.

�� A sudden
certainty hit her.� Who had last had her
phone?� Yes.� Draco Malfoy.� And who had
indicated, very unsubtly, that he would help her reciprocate?� But she was fairly sure that Draco didn�t have a phone of his own.� In spite of his father�s mugglization,
he was still very far removed from muggle
culture.� He would have no knowledge of muggle music, or how to send a message like this.

�� Perhaps his
father had helped him?� Perhaps�Lucius had sent it himself?�
She was unconscious in his flat for hours, and milling around in it
nearly all day.� He could have gotten her
phone number.� But why would he do
that?� She shook her head.� It wasn�t possible.� It was probably just one of her girlfriends
who had changed to a new number.

�� She texted �thanks� back to the mystery person and went to
sleep.

�

�� The number
of owls had tripled by early the next morning.�
Sighing, Hermione opened her window and they dropped their bits of mail
on her desk.� Well, there were no
howlers; that was good, at least.� She
located the ones that were from the expected people first.� There was one from Harry, Ginny, Luna, Fred
and George (she�d open that last, very carefully and at a safe distance), and
(God help her) Molly Weasley.�

�� Harry
first.� It was short and carefully
worded.

�� Hermione, I know you�re upset�but Malfoy?

�� Then Ginny.

�� Hermione Jane Granger!� There is no use in trading one piece of
stupid rubbish for another!� Wow, she
really was mad at her brother.

�� Luna next.� It was
about what she expected.

�� I�m sorry to hear that Ronald is behaving
boorishly.� Dad says that it�s succubus gnomes that make men stray, so here�s a charm
that ought to repel them.

�� Hermione
smiled, knowing full well that there was no such thing as a succubus
gnome.� Nonetheless, she picked up the
charm, which was a green stone in the shape of an octagon, and slipped it over
her head.� Luna meant well and Hermione
would be eternally grateful for that.

�� Now she was down to the two that she least wanted to open.� Sighing, she picked up Molly�s letter and
opened it.� It wasn�t what she expected.

�� Hermione,

�� I know that what my son has done is
inexcusable and that he�s broken your heart.�
He has heard from me more than anyone else how foolish he is.� He will be lucky if he manages to win you
back.� Of course I hope that he can, but
that is up to you.� In the meantime,
though, I know you are vulnerable and angry.�
Perhaps your liaison with Malfoy is an attempt
to get back at Ron, or maybe you genuinely like him.� I don�t know.�
I just ask you to please be careful.�
When you are heart-broken you may do some things you later regret.� I am here if you need to talk.

�� Love,

�� Molly

Hermione sniffled and beat back the
tears.� She didn�t want to cry.� Molly was a hellcat when it came to her
children, but even she could acknowledge when one of them was wrong.� She felt a pang of sympathy when she thought
about all the dark stares Ron was surely getting at the Burrow.� She scoffed at it a moment later; he had done
it to himself.� With a deep breath, she
picked up the letter from Fred and George.�
She placed it on the desk, took five steps backward, and opened it with
a flick of her wand.

Nothing happened.� Cautiously she approached.� It seemed to be just a normal letter, though
there was something enclosed with it.

Hermione,

Next
time ickle Ronnie tries to get up some other bird�s
skirt, give him a bit of this.� It�s not
our design, but we hear it�s highly effective.

-F
& G

P.S.
� It might be interesting to give some to Malfoy,
too.

Hermione examined the small packet
of blue powder that had come with the letter.�
She had no idea what it was, but Fred and George�s endorsement meant
that if she used it on Ron, it would probably be
highly painful and/or embarrassing.� He
deserved it.� She put the sachet of
powder in her desk drawer.� Perhaps one
day, if she was feeling particularly vengeful, she�d use it.� This hadn�t turned out so bad.� No one was berating her except Ginny.� Well, that was only the letters from people
that actually liked her.� She was sure
the mail from the Witch Weekly readers would be worse.� But as she waded through the pile, she was
pleasantly surprised.� Most of them were
letters of support or encouragement.�
This was definitely not the reaction that Rita had been looking
for.� Had she inadvertently turned Hermione
and Draco into media darlings?

Shaking her head, Hermione began to
write back to Harry and Ginny.� They were
always together, so if one got the letter the other would be there to read it,
also.

Harry
& Ginny,

Relax,
it isn�t what it seems.� I got a bit
depressed the other night after I left your flat and decided to go to the
pub.� After drinking myself into a fine
state of oblivion, I would have made some very bad choices if not for Malfoy.� That picture
is him dragging me away from the pub; I�m nearly unconscious.� There�s nothing romantic about it.� He was only doing me a favor.� I don�t quite understand it, but I can
definitely say that he�s changed for the better.

Love,

Hermione

�� She sealed
it and sent it off with one of the owls.�
Then she finally called her mother.�
Two hours later she hung up, drained.�
She had to get out and do something.�
Wallowing in her flat wasn�t healthy.

�� As she got
ready, an owl pecked at her window.�
Sighing, she let it in.� It
dropped the letter, which had Harry�s handwriting on it.� Hermione gasped when she opened it; a
clipping of Witch Weekly unfolded onto her desk.� It was her and Malfoy
on the sidewalk kissing.� We may as well give them something that�ll
really blow their minds, he�d said.� Oh,
the slimy git had known
this would end up in the magazine!

�� Harry�s
letter said only: Nothing romantic, huh?

The song in this chapter is Lily Allen�s �Not Big�.
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Some Blond Fool