A/N - Welcome to AU there-was-no-Voldemort Head Boy/Head Girl fluffs. This is not serious. This is not dark. This is not even wholly logical and it certainly doesn't try to keep the characters in, well, character. This is silly fun and nothing more. There are five chapters and the whole thing is written.

Many thanks to misslexilouwho who beta read this for me and to all the lovely alpha readers on tumblr who offered suggestions and encouragement during its creation, most especially moonnott and stefartemis.

Now… on with the show.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco Malfoy irritated her. His smug little grins irritated her and his privilege irritated her and his swagger irritated her. The thing that irritated her the most, however, was that in some fit of idiocy she assumed could only be laid at the feet of senility, Dumbledore had decided it would be a swell idea for Draco Malfoy to be Head Boy.

Yes, yes, he had great marks and was popular enough and active in extracurricular activities, assuming Quidditch counted which, unfortunately, it did, and she supposed it was a perfectly logical choice.

The only problem was that she was Head Girl.

This was not going to go well was all she could think as she sat in the private compartment on the train and waited for the worthless, arrogant, arse to show up.

He was late.

Of course he was.

. . . . . . . . .

Hermione Granger made Draco Malfoy want to scream. From the day he'd first sat in a class with her and she'd waved her hand in the air as if she were going to actually die if she weren't called on, she'd made him mental. She should have been just another forgettable swot, born to Muggle nobodies, but she wasn't. She had great marks, she was beyond clever, and she looked good whenever she bothered to try.

Not that she did nearly often enough.

And now she was Head Girl and he'd have to spend a whole year living with her and planning things with her and she was sure to yap at him that he did it all wrong and had he read Hogwarts: A History because there had been a Halloween Masque in 1201 that had gone hideously wrong and did he think it was really a good idea to try that particular theme again?

Dumbledore had lost his mind. The man had flat out lost his mind.

His seventh year was supposed to be fun and now instead of a good time he'd be stuck with Granger who, of course, wouldn't even look at him twice.

She never did.

Stupid swot.

. . . . . . . . . .

"You're late."

Draco glowered at the girl. She'd already spread out what looked like three months of proposed schedules for prefect patrols and had her hair back in some horrible tight braid that looked fat and stupid because bushy hair like hers wasn't meant to be tortured that way.

"Had to say goodbye to Pans," he said, adjusting his collar as if he were hiding evidence of Pansy's affection.

"If I could say goodbye to Ron and still get her on time," she began, a lecture already formed in her eyes and ready to pour out of her mouth. He interrupted her.

"I thought you were seeing Feelsy McClaggan," he said. "That's who you took to Sluggy's party last Christmas."

"Feelsy?" she asked. Draco couldn't tell if she were amused or aghast at the tosser's nickname. "Sluggy?"

He just quirked an eyebrow up at her and flung himself down onto the bench. He stretched his legs as wide as he could and spread his arms over the back of the cushions and waited to see if she'd say anything. When she didn't he was oddly disappointed and pulled a toy Snitch out and began tossing it back and forth. "Sluggy," he confirmed. "Professor Slughorn to you proper, middle class types."

"You weren't invited to Professor Slughorn's party," Hermione said.

Draco shrugged and didn't let on how much that exclusion had rankled. He was wealthy, and from an important family, and just one little not-even-a-conviction charge of fraud and vote rigging on the part of his father and suddenly Slughorn didn't want him around. "Snuck in," he said. "You looked good."

She had too, in some pink dress with a pleated skirt. She didn't look good now, unfortunately, with her hair back in that lump and a uniform jumper that had to be three sizes too big. He let his eyes travel up and down her body and made a face she chose to ignore. "Thank you," she said, her voice just as proper as he'd accused her of being. "But, no, Cormac and I only had the one date."

"Tried to feel you up, didn't he?" Draco asked knowingly. He tipped his head at the paperwork she'd set out and said, "Put that away, I'm sure it's fine."

She seemed offended he didn't want to double check her plans but began gathering evidence of all her work up. When she had it almost tucked away, seething in some kind of put-out-girl silence, he tossed the Snitch at her. She ignored it and the thing fluttered in the air in front of her, darting toward her face and then away until she narrowed her eyes and held out one hand. Draco watched in astonishment as the Snitch settled down onto her palm sans protest and she shoved it away in her bag too.

"How did you do that?" he asked.

"It's just a practice Snitch," she said, as if that made what had just happened obvious. When it was clear he was still confused she said, as if explaining something to an idiot, "All practice Snitches have to be able to be turned off with the same charm. There was a case brought in, uh,1987 by the mothers of Surrey against the manufacturer, and one of them testified that - "

"If you plan to recite the entire hearing," Draco said in as affected a drawl as he could muster, "we might get to Hogwarts before you're done."

"Anyway," Hermione said, glaring at him, "Ron and Harry play with these things all the time I learned the charm because I don't like having balls in my face."

Draco blinked at her a few times and then sniggered. She turned bright red as she realized the full meaning of the double entendre.

"That wasn't what I - ," she began.

"Good to know," he said. "I'll keep that in mind."

She pulled out a book and pointedly ignored him until he said, "Still, wandless and voiceless. Impressive."

"It was just a practice Snitch," Hermione said, but she looked pleased at the compliment nonetheless.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione looked around the Head dorm. Cast off chairs from what appeared to be every house filled the small, dingy common room. "I thought the Heads had a good dorm," she said. "This is - "

"I'm writing home," Draco said. "I'm telling my father. This is a dump." He stalked across the room to a small counter with a tea pot and two chipped mugs. "What is this? Why is there rubbish left out?"

Hermione ignored him to open a door into a small bedroom. A single bed with a metal frame sat against one wall and a desk against the other. There was just enough room between them to open the drawers most of the way; the only window was dirty and looked out at a stone wall only three feet away. "There's no closet?" she asked in horror before she found one.

Draco followed her into the room and looked at the closet she'd found. "There's no closet," he said, eyeing it. "Fortunately, you don't care about fashion so it shouldn't matter."

She hit him on the arm without thinking about it. It was the same kind of annoyed smack she gave Harry whenever he admitted he hadn't done his homework because he'd been up late listening to a Quidditch game on the radio and could he borrow her notes just the one last time. Draco glared at her but she didn't notice because she'd crossed her arms and was staring unhappily into the small and dusty space where three dilapidated wire hangers hung askew. "This is… maybe the other room is better."

Draco almost sprinted to the other room lest it turn out to be this mythical better but it wasn't. Hermione fell through the door right after him, almost stumbling into him, and they looked around. It was an exact mirror of her room except someone had left a copy of Advanced Arithmancy on the desk. "We better not have to share a shower," Draco muttered.

They did.

"This is not acceptable," Hermione said as she used her wand to fill the teapot with water, after using three different cleaning charms on it and still not being sure the thing wouldn't be better off binned. "This has to be a joke."

Draco found three tea bags in the back of a cupboard and handed them to her. "You can have this," he said. "I've got fire whiskey in my trunk."

"Oh no," she said. "That is against the rules, Draco Malfoy. You cannot have -"

"Take points," he suggested. "But I just found out that not only do I have to share a dorm with the swottiest swot who ever swotted, that dorm is a disaster I wouldn't even wish on a Muggle-born like you, said swot." He waved a hand around the room. "Look around and tell me you don't want a drink."

Hermione hesitated but the teabags were so old she wasn't even sure they counted as tea any longer. "Just one," she said at last.

Draco grinned at her. "Turn those mugs to something fit for good whiskey," he said. "I'll be right back."

"This is very irresponsible," Hermione yelled after him.

He stuck his head back out of his room. "I promise, Head Girl, that I will be so responsible tomorrow all your most tedious dreams will come true. I will walk firsties to class. I will coordinate prefects. I will even listen to you explain why whatever pet project you've got outlined in your bag is a good idea even though it's not, but tonight, my dear Granger, we drink."

He muttered as he ducked back away, "It's not like I can invite anyone else back here. Pansy would refuse to put one designer shoe into this place and Blaise would laugh himself sick."

And that, Hermione thought, was an unexpected silver lining.

She'd take it.

Draco came out of his room with a half-empty bottle of what looked like very expensive fire whiskey. Hermione was, in all fairness, not well versed in high end wizarding alcohol, but if packaging was a good indicator of cost, the bottle in Draco's hand was probably better than anything she'd ever had. In Gryffindor they'd tended to use what a long-tended still produced though, once, the Weasley twins had arrived with a truck filled with Muggle alcohol. No one had asked how they'd gotten it and a lively night was had comparing tequila to vodka.

Hermione was excellent at hangover charms. Most Gryffindors were. Neville Longbottom was the latest in a long line of Housemates who could turn anything into liquor and practice, after all, made perfect. Hermione had had a lot of practice. She'd once told Ron it was a pity there wasn't a N.E.W.T. in the subject. She'd have gotten an Outstanding without trying.

She let Draco pour her one glass, stopping him before he filled it. "Not a heavy drinker?" he asked with a grin.

She smiled at him and took a sip. Damn, she thought. The good stuff was smooth. She could get used to this.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco watched her taste the whiskey and smirked at the way her eyes widened. He'd made off with a bottle of his father's very best stuff but fire whiskey was still whiskey and if you were used to fruity girly drinks or butterbeer it could still feel a bit like, well, fire. Given how she'd kept him from totally filling the glass he bet she had a low tolerance. He wondered if he could get her drunk enough to steal a kiss.

Three glasses later his bottle was empty, the room was spinning, and Hermione Granger was still talking about how she didn't think some concept they'd studied in Runes was really properly explained by the textbooks. She'd done some research the previous year and come to some conclusion that Draco was sure made total sense and was likely to be annoyingly right and probably even brilliant, but he'd stopped listening to the words and was just watching her mouth move.

How was she not drunk? He was drunk. He was very drunk. This wasn't fair. She'd matched him glass for glass and she was still sober. How was that even possible? In Slytherin you sipped one good drink and she had not done that and so he had had to keep up with her and she was not playing by the rules. There were rules and the rules were she got drunk and giggly and he got to kiss her like he'd wanted to do for a while and instead he'd gotten drunk and she was lecturing him on schoolwork.

Life really wasn't fair.

His head lolled to the side as he watched her talk. "You taking Runes again?" he asked when he stopped for breath.

It might have come out a bit more like, "Youse takin' Runes gen?" but she seemed to understand him. "Me too," he said. "Theo too. You eed to study wit us."

"I don't think so," she said. "I doubt your friend would want to study with the Muggle-born."

"Theo's not like that," he said, taking care to enunciate perhaps a little too carefully this time. "Me neither."

She snorted and he could feel his mouth turn down into a petulant frown as she said, "Let me guess. Some of your best friends are Muggles? You went out to Muggle London once and it was fine?"

Draco squinted at her. "Ne'er met Muggle," he said. "Jus' you. And stuff. Don' care, though. Think yer pretty." He nodded. This was very important and he needed to say this just right. "You have pretty hair." He frowned at his empty glass. "You don' like me, though. You won' study with me because you don' like me."

Hermione stood up. "I'm going to bed."

"'Morrow's gonna hurt," Draco said plaintively. "And you won' study wit me and you won' even kiss me." He glared at the bottle. "Wasted you for nothin'."

She patted him on the head as she walked by. "I'll take care of your hangover in the morning. Who knew you were such a cheap drunk, Malfoy? It's kind of cute in a pathetic sort of way"

"That whiskey isn' cheap!" he yelled after her as she shut her door. He slouched back in his chair. "Isn' cheap at all," he complained. "And no kisses."

"Drink water." She stuck her head out the door of her bedroom and he turned to quickly to see her and everything wobbled. "Drink plenty of water, Malfoy. It will help." She muttered something like, "I'm an idiot," but added, "I'll study Runes with you if you really want."

"Kisses?" he asked hopefully.

She slammed the door of her room and he took that to mean, "No."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione had charmed away Draco Malfoy's hangover before he spoke. "I didn't…I didn't do anything embarrassing last night, did I?" he asked.

She eyed him. He'd been drunk but he hadn't been drunk enough to not remember things and he wasn't sure she'd buy his feigned ignorance. "You mumbled a lot," she said. "You invited me to join you and Theodore Nott in a Runes study group but I assumed you didn't mean it because of the whole 'Muggle' thing. Don't worry, I won't hold you to that."

He almost fell over himself to tell her that he really had meant it and they'd both be thrilled to have her join them.

"I'm not quite your type," she said.

Draco Malfoy admitted that was true but said, "Last year our 'type' was that spotty Ravenclaw. I'd rather upgrade to you."

"The spotty Ravenclaw?" It took Hermione a moment to realize who he meant. "Not Marietta Edgecomb?" she asked. "Isn't she the one who turned in Ron and Harry for their, uh, incidents?" She'd despised the girl on principle since she'd ratted the boys out for parties they'd organized that, while technically against the rules, had been nothing Marietta needed to concern herself with. If she hadn't wanted to go, she could have just stayed home.

"You mean the 'incidents' no Slytherins were invited to?" Draco asked her.

"Like we could have trusted you to keep your mouths shut," she said. "You and Harry have that personal thing, so you would have gone running to Dumbledore just to - "

"You trusted Edgecomb," Draco said. He was still irritated there had been a whole underground party network the previous year and none of his friends had been included. Gryffindors: snots, all of them. And hell would freeze before he went running to Dumbledore with anything.

Though, now that he thought about it, Granger's alcohol tolerance began to make a little sense, though her self-righteous thing about rules seemed more hypocritical than ever.

"Trusting her was a mistake," Hermione admitted somewhat grouchily. "Cow. I can't believe you studied with her. She's dumber than a box of rocks."

Draco smirked at her assessment before he asked, as casually as he could, "That was it, though? I asked you to study but nothing else especially embarrassing?"

He'd hoped Hermione Granger, good girl and chivalrous Gryffindor, would pretend his pathetic whinging about kissing her hadn't happened. Like so many other things he'd hoped about the bushy-haired swot over the years, however, his dreams were doomed. She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, reminded him he'd promised to do the first year escorting tasks that day so no one got lost, and suggested he should take on the job of organizing the Halloween Masque all by himself. He was about to protest that that was not fair, that it was a huge job and they were supposed to do it together, and, besides, after all the 'incidents' of the year before surely she had tons of experience at planning big student parties that would be far more useful than his knowledge of good whiskey. He couldn't get his mouth open, however, before she said, "I might manage to not spread around how you got pathetically drunk and begged me to kiss you if you took that over."

She smiled at him as his jaw dropped at the sheer gall but he realized he was stuck.

"Blackmailer," he accused. "You can't do that!"

She waved a cheerful goodbye as she let the door to their dorm close behind her.

. . . . . . . . . .

"So what's he like to live with?"

Hermione tried to ignore Harry but he kept putting his hand over her Potions essay until she finally groaned and said, "If I answer your questions will you just stop so I can finish this?"

Ron scooted his chair closer to hers and she sighed as she realized why they'd both been so avid to do their homework for once. Neither needed N.E.W.T.s; Ron already planned to join his brothers at their joke shop and Harry had Quidditch ambitions and, as much as the idea of encouraging someone to skive off his education so he could become a professional athlete seemed idiotic, she had to admit in Harry's case it wasn't the worst plan in the world. Even Victor Krum, widely considered best Seeker in the world and her sometime pen-pal, admitted Harry was gifted.

It was annoying because she hated Quidditch but somehow ended up friends with all these Quidditch players. Harry. Ron. Ginny. Victor. She kept having to go to their games and pretend that she cared and she really, really didn't. Even Malfoy played Quidditch and thus his unending rivalry with Harry.

"He's fine," she said. "So far he takes really long showers, which is irritating, and leaves bottles of hair potions all over the bath we have to share, but he's basically tidy and quiet."

"He shirks on his Head responsibilities, though, right?" Ron asked, keen for complaints about the boy he considered, with more than a little justification, to be a prattish wanker.

Hermione smiled rather smugly and said, "He volunteered to take over planning the whole Halloween Masque which I was rather dreading so, no, he's really fine." She opened her mouth to tell them he was a lightweight but closed it again; that didn't seem to be in the spirit of what she liked to think of as her agreement with Malfoy that he handle the Masque in exchange for her silence.

Harry saw the aborted movement, however. "What?" he asked.

"It's nothing," Hermione hedged.

"Not nothing," Ron said. "You have dirt. Spill it."

"I agreed to study with him and that quiet friend of his, the one who looks a bit like a rabbit." Hermione felt guilty for the way she noticed the poor boy's buck teeth but some things you couldn't help but see if you were the daughter of two dentists. Of course, she'd had a similar problem she'd managed to get fixed with magic and she wasn't sure why he just didn't do the same. Purebloods could be weird about stuff like that, she'd noticed.

"Nott?" Harry asked as Ron help up two fingers to mimic Theodore Nott's teeth.

"That's the one," she said, pleased she'd distracted them. "Be nice."

They both looked at her.

"Fine," she said. "But go away and let me finish my essay."

"That," Harry said, "we can do."

. . . . . . . . . . .

"So, what's the little swot like?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Pansy and said, "It's been one night, Pans. I'm not sure that gives me enough time to have any real insight into her character." He lifted his Arithmancy book and waggled it at her. "I am a little busy here."

Pansy Parkinson gave no indication she planned to leave anytime soon. Instead, she stretched her legs out and admired her shoes - shoes that most certainly did not meet dress code regulations and which were likely going to result in some horrible accident on one of the moving staircases - before tilting her head and saying with a theatrical sigh, "I cannot believe you have to live with her."

"Believe it," Draco said. "Head Boy is a position that looks very, very good on Ministry internship and clerk applications, Pansy, so don't think I have any intention of resigning just because of who the Head Girl is." He picked up a quill and looked pointedly at the homework he already had.

Pansy did not take the hint. "Our last year and the Halloween Masque will be ruined. Ruined."

"How's that?" He didn't look up but Pansy never really required encouragement. Any audience would do.

"Hermione Granger planning a formal dance?" She sniffed. "Potter and Weasley's little illicit drinking bashes are one thing, just throw out a little spiked punch and let the magic happen. But the Masque is a big deal, and there hasn't been a Mudblood who planned it - "

"Watch your language," Draco said. He looked up and she was gaping at him. "Really, Pans, are you a pureblood or a bloody guttersnipe? No one but Greg talks that way and I try not to admit I know him in public." She huffed and he added, "Besides, Granger agreed to let me handle the whole Masque so you can put your budding socialite fears at ease. It'll be fine."

Pansy regarded him suspiciously. "How did you manage that?" she demanded. "And why? You hate planning things."

Draco shrugged. "She did all the prefect schedules." Pansy still looked suspicious. "Plus, I thought you might like the chance to put your own stamp on the event. You did say last year the only good thing about being Head Girl would be getting to plan the Masque and the Yule Ball and the Easter Cotillion and I don't know if I can get Granger to agree to let go of the other two but at least I can let you have this one."

Pansy squealed and flung herself forward. Draco flinched as she barely missed grinding one of her heels into his foot. "You're the best friend a girl could have." She kissed his cheek. "You won't regret it! I'll do a Hades and Persephone theme and we'll have pomegranate punch and - "

"You've already thought about this, I take it," Draco asked her, trying to get her fingers out of his hair. She hadn't actually stopped talking about the dance and she'd moved on to how he could dress as Hades and she'd go as Persephone and he sighed. "Pansy," he said. She kept talking so said it louder. "Pansy!"

"What?" she asked.

"I have to go with Granger. The Heads always go together. It would look bad if I didn't." Pansy looked at him. "Ministerial ambitions don't work out if you can be painted a blood purist who broke decades of tradition to refuse to take the Muggle-born to the Masque."

Pansy frowned for a moment but quickly changed her tune. "I'll get Blaise to be my Hades," she said. "He's cuter than you anyway.

"Have you asked him yet?" Draco asked as she finally got off of him so he could try to get this work started.

"Like he'd say no," Pansy scoffed. "Who else is he going to go with? Daphne threatened to cover him with boils if he ever touched her again after their breakup and Millie's ugly and you know how shallow he is. If it weren't for me he'd have to ask someone younger and that makes him look desperate." She fussed with the strap on her shoe as she asked in a pleased, coy voice, "Have you asked Granger yet?"

"She has to go with me," Draco said. "Tradition and custom and - "

"You might want to ask her before you just assume these things," Pansy said. "She might have different feelings about the importance of going to the Masque with you to save your Ministerial ambitions." She smirked at him. "I'm not sure your political future matters to her given she punched you when we were thirteen. She's not your biggest fan."

"I wasn't prepared," Draco muttered. "And I still can't believe she didn't get a detention for that." He glared down at the homework he really needed to do as Pansy sauntered off and tried not to panic at the idea that all the fantasies he'd had about taking Granger to a dance might not come true. She had to go with him. She did. It was tradition.