Title: Entropy

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgentsunhotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Harry Potter. They are owned by J.K. Rowling, Arthur A. Levine Books, Scholastic Press, etc.  No copyright infringement intended.

AN: I couldn't resist using a line from the movie Out of Sight or from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Part Two: Metamorphosis,

Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Change

            Under normal circumstances, using alcohol as a coping mechanism for life's strange twists and turns would not be something I would do.  Yet circumstances were clearly anything but normal that night, and while I certainly don't condone drinking your troubles away, sometimes, I suppose, viewing the world a bit differently, say through rose colored glasses, isn't always the most horrible thing in the world.  Especially if your world has been tilted upside down on its axis by forces beyond your control. 

            So, against better judgment, I left the booth and headed to the bar to procure another drink.  Madam Rosmerta took one look at my surely miserable and bewildered face, grabbed a shot glass, filled it with firewhisky, and plunked the drink down before me.  I smiled gratefully and gave her a few sickles for payment.  Then I took a deep breath, lifted the glass, and swallowed the whisky in one gulp.  More tears and coughing occurred of course, but thankfully, there was not another international incident like the one back at the booth.  Unless, that is, you count the following conversation between myself and Draco Malfoy as an international incident.  I know I certainly did.

            "Enlighten me, Granger.  Is firewhisky the drink of choice for Hogwarts' Head Girls?  Somehow I thought it would be something clean and virginal and non-alcoholic.  Like water."

            "Go away, Malfoy."

            "Now, now, is that any way to greet the future Minister of Magic?"

            "Oh, god.  Don't remind me."  I closed my eyes and willed Malfoy to go away, but he didn't leave.  He never leaves when you want him to.  Instead, he slid onto the stool next to me and ordered a tumbler of Siberian vodka.    

            "You thought it would be you, didn't you?" he said, casting a sidelong glance my way.  "The one who would be named the Next Minister of Magic."

            "Yes, Malfoy.  Yes, I did think it would be me.  I thought it would be someone reasonable.  Someone not… not…"



            Malfoy's mouth quirked up into a grin.  "What's so wrong with me?"

            I sighed.  "Where do I start?"

            "The beginning's always worked for me."

            "I hate to disappoint you, Malfoy, but it would take me all night and well into tomorrow morning to list all of the things that are wrong with you."

            "Lucky for you then my schedule for the night happens to be free."

            I looked over at Malfoy, but I couldn't discern whether he was actually serious behind his patented Malfoy smirk.  I leaned forward and scrutinized him through half-closed eyes; he watched me inspect him in mild amusement, but his gaze never wavered from mine and I knew then he was truly serious.  He wanted to sit there and listen to me list all of the things that I thought were wrong with him.  He wanted to voluntarily spend time with me. 

            Oh, bloody hell.

            I stood, clutching the bar as I swayed a bit on my feet.  "No.  No, no, no, no, no." 

            "No what?"

            "No, you do not get to do this."

            "Do what?"

            "This."  I waved my arms around, gesturing from me to him and back again.  "Be different.  Not tonight.  Not on top of everything else that's gone wrong.  I don't know what sorts of delusions have seized control of your brain, but let me remind you that we do notsit down and have nice, cozy chats with one another."

            Malfoy looked amused.  Still.  "What do we do then since we do not sit down and have nice, cozy chats with one another?"

            "We insult each other at every opportunity and generally avoid the other whenever we can."  I paused and leaned forward again, bringing my face close to Malfoy's.  He glanced down and I knew he was looking down my top.  Slimy bastard.  "I hate you and you hate me.  Remember?"

            "What if I said I didn't hate you?"

            I blinked and moved away from Malfoy, frowning.  "Then clearly the insanity has taken you over completely, and now you're the Hogwarts student Most Likely to End Up at St. Mungo's."  I smiled at that and continued, "Which is good for me because then I can be the future Minister of Magic and not some ruddy Quidditch player."

            At that point, I realized I was very nearly drunk.  I had said ruddy and bloody hell, invaded Malfoy's personal space not once but twice, and failed to slap him for taking a peek at my chest.  I hadn't even yelled at him.  I needed to get away, from the pub, from the firewhisky, and especially from Draco Malfoy, before this night got any stranger.  I eased back from the bar, and, without pausing to say goodbye to Malfoy, headed for the open front door.

            "Where are you going, Granger?"

            "I'm going away," I said over my shoulder, which wasn't a smart move as I nearly lost my balance and fell down on my arse.  "Do not follow me."

            Of course he followed me.  I hadn't made it two steps out of the Three Broomsticks before Malfoy came strolling along, slowing to a stop beside me when I turned to glare at him.  Under the light of the half-moon, I noticed that he had foregone his school robes in favor of a pair of dark grey pants and a long-sleeved pale green shirt.  I, too, had left my robes behind, wearing instead a maroon tank, a flowing knee-length skirt, and a pair of sandals.  I have to admit it was a tad disconcerting to see Malfoy dressed in something other than a Hogwarts' uniform.  He looked almost normal.  And, yes, I suppose he looked handsome.  In a pale evil sort of way.  If you like that sort of thing.

            A soft wind blew strands of my hair before my eyes, and I shoved them away to better scowl at Malfoy.  "Whatdo you think you're doing?"

            "Walking with you."

            "I told you not to follow me."

            "And I'm not.  I'm walking beside you," he said with a cocky grin.

            "Don't you have anyone else to bother?"

            Malfoy's brows drew together in mock concentration.  He peered back inside the pub and murmured, "I suppose I could go bother Potter, but he just might try to snog me.  After all, he has become something of a slut these past few months.  I don't think gender would be much of an issue to him at this point."

            I walked away.  It was all I could do.  My brain had been paralyzed by images of a snogging Harry and Malfoy.  I- Did I think it was hot?  Honestly, get your mind out of the gutter.  Snogging is not the issue here.  Yes, yes, fine.  Whatever.  You're right.  In a vague circumstantial sense, it is the issue.  But not hypothetical boy-on-boy snogging, so please try to focus.

            There was a fair crowd on the streets of Hogsmeade for that time of the night.  Most were Hogwarts students although a few parents in town early for graduation were also frequenting the various shops and pubs.  I had no clue where I was going on my impulsive trek from the Three Broomsticks.  I certainly didn't want to walk all the way back to Hogwarts with Malfoy in tow.  I contemplated returning to the pub for Harry and Ron, but I didn't want to chance Ron turning his Ginny-and-Goyle related frustrations onto Malfoy by picking a fight with him.  Ditching Malfoy by Apparating somewhere else in town briefly crossed my mind, too, but I knew better than to try to do so while slightly drunk.  Splinching myself was not an acceptable alternative to spending time with Draco Malfoy.  My short list of options dwindling, I seized my very last chance and hoped it would work a miracle.

            In other words, I decided on the direct approach. 

            "Don't you have anywhere else you can go?  Isn't there any of your family in town for graduation you might want to see?"

            Malfoy grimaced.  "Mother is in town, but she's dining with that Lupin bloke tonight."

            "What?!  Professor Lupin?!"

            "My thoughts exactly.  I wouldn't have thought Mother would go for a werewolf, but ever since he saved her life in January, she's been completely smitten with him.  Frankly, it makes me want to heave."

            I stopped in the middle of the street, eyes narrowing in anger.  "Why?  Is it because he's a werewolf?  That is so typical-"

            "No, Granger.  It's because she's my mum."  A beat passed and then he shrugged.  "I suppose the werewolf thing has something to do with it too, but if Mother wants to take a walk on the wild side, that's her business."

            "You seriously expect me to believe that you've had a sudden change of heart about Lupin and werewolves?  To the point where you're okay with your mum dating one?"

            Malfoy rolled his eyes and started down the street again.  "I never said I was okay with Mother dating Lupin.  I harbor no delusions about how dangerous he can be.  He is a werewolf, Granger, not a big, fluffy bunny.  His lifespan will be significantly shorter than a normal wizard's due to the strain put on his body by the monthly changes.  But Mother's happy.  She's happy…"  He drifted off then, retreating back into his mind and his memories, and the Malfoy mask of sarcasm and dismissal disappeared for a moment, revealing genuine feeling within his grey eyes.

            I leaned forward to better see the play of emotions across Malfoy's face.  I couldn't help it.  I know it was a very personal moment, and I should have respected personal boundaries and privacy and all that lot, but this was such a new side to Malfoy, an actual human side, that I couldn't resist further investigation.  However, my inebriated sense of balance couldn't adequately compensate for my excessive curiosity, and I stumbled forward, knocking into Malfoy and breaking him from his reverie.  Mortified at my klutziness and my third personal space invasion, I jerked backwards, nearly falling on my arse once again, and was saved only by Malfoy and his quick Quidditch reflexes. 

            After a moment's pause, in which I thankfully regained control of my equilibrium, I eased out from under Malfoy's grip on my shoulders and put much needed distance back between us.  Face hot and flushed, I mumbled something resembling an apology and continued down the road.   Malfoy, for his part, looked the definition of cool, calm, and collected.  "So," he said as we passed by Honeydukes, "I take it from the hysterics at your booth earlier that Weasley just found out about his sister and Goyle?"

            I followed the conversation segue, not wanting to press the previous subject while at something less than top form.  Interacting with an angry, guarded, frustrated, or embarrassed Draco Malfoy is a bit like going to war.  It's kill or be killed, and Malfoy can be as ruthless as his father when he wants to be.  "Um, yes.  We all did.  I assume by your lack of hysterics that you already knew?"

            "Of course I knew.  They've been seeing each other for months.  Only a total half-wit wouldn't have noticed something strange going on between those two."

            "Oh, yes, how silly of me.  I forgot you're Draco Malfoy and therefore know absolutely everything there is to know about anything."

            "Isn't this a pot calling the kettle moment?" Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow.  "And I wouldn't say I know everything, Granger."

            "Yes.  You are distinctly lacking in the area of morals and ethics."

            "I'm not lacking.  You just think so because my definition differs from yours."

            "Right.  As in I have them and you don't."

            "No, what you have is a highly developed sense of self-righteousness.  Maybe that's a Gryffindor trait though since Potter and the Weasel are afflicted, too."

            "If this is your version of a nice, cozy chat," I snapped, "I'll pass.  I don't fancy being insulted all night."

            "One, it wasn't an insult.  And two, you won't pass."

            I stopped, floored by his audacious presumption.  Malfoy turned to face me.  He had a look in his eyes like he knew the answer to the question I hadn't yet asked and couldn't wait to exercise his superior insight and enlighten me.  I knew I shouldn't have asked the question.  He wanted me to ask, and asking could only lead to a Malfoy desired destination and I certainly didn't want to go there.   But I still asked.  My curiosity got the better of me as it often does.

            "And why wouldn't I pass?"

            A smile broke out on his face, a slow, seductive, honest-to-goodness smile.  "Because you're having too much fun."

            "Fun?  You think I'm having fun?"

            "Not the sort of enjoyment you might receive from extra homework or flashing your Head Girl badge around, but I think you're enjoying this."

            "Oh, you think.  That's quite smug of you, isn't it, to presume to know what I'm feeling?"

            "The Durnheim Well didn't choose me as the Next Minister of Magic for nothing, Granger.  I do happen to notice a few things from time to time."

            "And what do you think you notice about me?"  I regretted the question as soon as I said it.  Malfoy's opinion of me had held no weight in the past, but now I was curious.  Now I wanted to know.  And that was a bad, bad thing.  That left me vulnerable and exposed and subject to whatever whim that could've flitted through his rather temperamental mind.  So I waited for him to speak, preparing myself for anything he might say, good or ill, but what he said was neither good nor ill.  It was surprising and revealing and embarrassing and frustrating.  It was quintessential Malfoy.

            "I think you're bored," he said holding my gaze and not letting go.  "You don't think you're bored, but you are.  You're stuck in this plan you've devised for your life, thinking it's what you really want, what you should want, but I don't think it is.  I think the fact that you're here with me now means you want something different from life, but you're conflicted about it because it contradicts what you deem to be an acceptable lifestyle choice."

            "That I'm here with you now?!  You followed me!  I've tried my best to get away from you all night, but you keep hanging around like… like…"

            "Yes?  Like what?"

            "Don't get flip with me.  You don't know the first thing about me, and you never will."  I stormed away, fuming and flustered and very much bothered by Malfoy and his stupid words.  What an arrogant, aggravating, amoral-

            Malfoy sighed.  "Denial.  It's such a tragic state of being."

            -belligerent, beastly, bothersome-

            "I am not in denial!" I shouted back. 

            "Of course you're not."

            -caustic, condescending, cracked-

            "I'm not!"

            "Whatever you say, Granger."

            -despicable, devious, degenerate.

            "You know what," I said as I whirled around and stalked back toward Malfoy, "I'm a little tired of talking about me.  Let's talk about you for a bit, and why you're here and what do you want out of life and how bored you are with absolutely everything and why the hell youwon't leave me alone!"

            He smirked.  The smarmy bastard had the nerve to smirk at me.  I wanted to hit him.  I wanted to hit him, kick him, curse him, smack him, knock that stupid smirk right off his stupid face.  "Isn't it obvious, Granger?"

            "Maybe to a crazy person the meaning behind your deranged behavior would be quite clear, but to those of us still maintaining our sanity, you're as annoyingly abstract as ever."

            "You know, insulting someone isn't the best way to get the information you want."

              A saccharine sweet smile stretched across my face.  "One, it wasn't an insult.  And two, you will tell me."

            Malfoy looked like he was fighting hard not to grin.  "Oh, I will, will I?"

            "Yes, you will."

            "And why would I tell you anything?  I think I like you this way, all flustered and stubborn and absolutely desperate to know."

            "You'll tell me because you're Draco Malfoy, and you can't not tell.  It's physically impossible for you to keep something to yourself.  Especially something that you think will demonstrate some sort of superior intellectual capacity."

            Malfoy considered me for a minute, head tilted, lips pursed, and arms folded across his chest.  I waited, impatient, while he contemplated, and right before I thought I would scream from frustration, he said, "I'll make a deal with you, Granger.  I'll tell you virtually anything you want to know about me, why I'm here, what my future plans are, why I really joined with Dumbledore, anything, as long as you do one thing."

            "How do I know you'll tell me the truth?"

            "You're saying you don't trust me?  I'm wounded, Granger. I truly am."

            "I trust you about as much as I trust a bloodthirsty vampire."

            "What would be the point in lying to you?  If that's all I wanted, I'd be doing it right now instead of expending all this energy into trying to convince you that I'm not going to lie."

            "Yes, but luring me into trusting you and then shamelessly lying your guts out would be so much more amusing than just lying by itself."

            Malfoy closed the distance between us.  All previous smirks and smiles were gone.  The same light I'd seen in his eyes back at the pub, the same utter seriousness and hint of something else, a surprising earnestness, an intriguing sincerity, shone there now under the moonlight.  "What would it take for you to trust me?  Just for tonight?  Just this once?"

            "You mean besides an entire vat of Veritaserum?" I said with a weak smile. I didn't know what to say, whether to stay or to go, or how to react to Malfoy at all.  I knew something was happening, something significant.  I know how stupid that sounds, but it's the truth.  It was a feeling, of the tide changing, and I could go with the flow or swim back to shore.

            "What would it take?" I repeated.  I drew in a deep breath.  I gazed up at the sky then back down at Malfoy and remembered that I never did care much for swimming.  "Probably… probably this right here," I said, suddenly nervous, looking everywhere but at Malfoy himself.  "Also taking into consideration the one thing you have in mind, of course.  I won't do anything dangerous.  Or illegal."

            "Oh, it's nothing much," Malfoy said.  He circled around me, slowly, sauntering like he was the god-king of the universe.  I could feel his eyes on me and his presence behind me, the heat of his skin, the cool wisp of breath along the shell of my ear.  He lifted his arm and pointed.  I shivered as he murmured, "Break into the Shrieking Shack with me."

            "I- What?  Are you insane?"  Reason flooded my mind, washing away the madness caused by the firewhisky and Malfoy and the strangeness of that odd, odd night.  "I am not breaking into the Shrieking Shack with you.  There's a fence here for a reason, and it's to keep people like you out."  I pushed his arm back down and walked away.

            "Come on, Granger.  Live a little.  We're graduating tomorrow.  If we're caught, it's not like they can expel us."

            "Exactly.  We're graduating tomorrow, and I don't want to spend the entire night before traipsing about in a dusty, old shack."  I started down the path to Hogwarts.  I couldn't believe I let myself be swayed by Malfoy.  I was never drinking firewhisky again.  Ever.  It clearly made one vulnerable to delusional Slytherins with too blue to be grey eyes.

            "That's fine, Granger.  Go ahead and leave me here all alone.  I'm sure to be eaten by manic, cannibalistic specters or some sort of lumbering mutant troll.  Don't worry about me.  Only the future fate of wizarding Britain rests in your hands.  If you can live with being responsible for the gruesome death of the future Minister, then by all means continue on your way."

            I didn't stop.  I couldn't stop.  I wouldn't stop.

            "This is your last chance, Granger.  Professor Trelawney always said I would die tragically, mauled by a rabid manticore or lost forever in a cavernous, never ending chamber somewhere, slowly starving to death."

            I don't usually pray or give much thought to higher powers guiding us, but at that moment, I asked every god/goddess/universal omnipotent being I could think of why he/she/they/it saw fit to unload the king of all drama queens onto me that night.  What horrible thing had I done to deserve such a punishment?  Was me wanting to be class valedictorian really such a bad thing that I deserved an entire night spent with Draco Malfoy?  Because, if so, I fully relinquish all rights and responsibilities inherent in that title.  Including Malfoy.  Especially Malfoy. 

            "It's all right.  I accept my fate and will humbly give my life for the cause."

            I stopped.  Merlin forgive me, I stopped.  He… I… There's a thing, not a charming or endearing or appealing quality, but a weird thing that draws people to Malfoy.  Sometimes against their will.  He's almost like Harry in that respect only more extreme and off-putting.  And I couldn't… I don't know… I plead temporary insanity induced by alcohol and excessive stress, okay? 

            Malfoy stepped in front of me, a brilliant smile on his face.  "Excellent.  There's hope for you yet, Granger."  Then he grabbed my hand, swung me around, and took off for the Shack.

            I stumbled after him, dazed and more than a little bit confused.  "You… amaze me, Malfoy."

            "Thank you."

            "That wasn't a compliment."

            "Even better."

             Toward the back of the property, we came across a broken section of the fence and scrambled over it into the sloping, rocky yard.  Malfoy reached for his wand and muttered, "Lumos."  A small beam of light illuminated the ground before us.  We found a path of sorts that wound around the grounds, gradually rising higher and higher until it stopped before the peeling, boarded-up front door, and we followed the trail all the way to the house.  Winded from the climb, I looked from Malfoy to the door and said, "Now what?"

            "Now we find a way in."

            "How do you expect to get past the protection spells?" I asked.  Malfoy moved around the porch, peering through the narrow cracks between the window boards.  "Fred and George Weasley tested every window and door to try to break through them, and they didn't succeed."

            "I think I know a few spells they don't."

            "I bet you do."

            "What was that?"

            "Nothing.  I didn't say anything.  Maybe you're hearing things.  Auditory hallucinations are one of the first signs of schizophrenia, you know."

            Malfoy wasn't listening.  He had his wand shoved behind one ear and both hands wrapped around the warped end of one of the boards.  I watched as he tried to pry the board from the window.  One minute passed, followed by another, and another.  But aside from unleashing a large quantity of dust, Malfoy's efforts were for naught.  The board didn't move one inch. 

            "Are you going to help me or do you plan to just stand there all night watching me work?" Malfoy's hands were filthy and a few beads of sweat began to roll down the side of his face. 

            "Why should I help?  This was your idea.  Besides, I've already been inside the Shack.  A return trip isn't high on my list of priorities."

            Malfoy let go of the board and turned toward me.  Despite the dark shadows we were standing in, I could clearly see frustration clouding his eyes.  "Granger.  You.  You know how to get in? And you didn't say anything before now?"

            I shrugged.  "It must have slipped my mind.  Silly me."

            Malfoy closed his eyes and sighed.  He rubbed one hand over his forehead, leaving tracks of black dust on his pale skin.  I stifled a giggle at his smudged face and walked over to the front door, retrieving my wand from the pocket of my skirt.  I ran the tip along the edge of the door and it swung open to reveal the dark, dank interior of the Shack.  Turning to Malfoy, I said, "A lot of us used to come here sixth year to talk about the war, classes, things like that.  I devised an entrance charm modeled after the one used at Gringotts for each of us, based upon everyone's individual wand."

            "You made your own charm sixth year?  By yourself?"

            "Really, it was the summer between fifth and sixth, but I didn't work out all of the kinks until sixth year."

            "That's… that's impressive, Granger."

            "Oh, I-" I felt a blush spread across my cheeks from the unexpected compliment, and I ducked my head.  "Um, thank you.  I…"  The nerves returned, churning my stomach into a right mess.  My eyes flickered to Malfoy's before turning to the entrance hall lying beyond the open door.  I hadn't realized how close we were standing until now, and now we were close.  Very close.  Too close.  "I guess, I guess we can go inside now.  Since the door is open."

            "Yes," he murmured.  "I suppose we can."

            I kept my gaze pinned to the ground.  Malfoy wore a pair of black dragon hide boots and his Slytherin house ring on his right hand.  Said hand twitched, time slowed, and I forgot to breathe.  What was he doing?  Was he, was he going to kiss me?  Did I want him to?  Was that what was happening here, or was it only my over sensitized imagination working overtime?  Malfoy's hand hovered, hesitating, but instead of crossing the space between us, it continued up and retrieved his wand from behind his ear.  Expelling a shaky breath, Malfoy reignited the Lumos spell and said, "After you."

            After me.  I'd been in the Shack dozens of times before, at all times of the day and night, but now my feet refused to cross the threshold.  I knew every inch of the house, every nook and cranny, every loose floorboard and every piece of peeling wallpaper, but uncharted territory lay before me now.  And I admit it.  I was scared.  Not of the house, but of me and what I was feeling and what it might mean and how the thing that scared me the most was the fact that I wasn't really scared at all.



            "I need to ask you something."


            "Did you… did you want to kiss me just now?"

            I expected him to hesitate, but he didn't.  I expected him to deny it, but he didn't do that either.  "Yes.  I did."   

            I looked at him then.  "Why didn't you?"

            "Because… because it's not about me.  Not really.  I know what I want.  It took a long while to figure it out, and an even longer while to accept it.  Having my father try to kill me helped in sorting out my priorities, but in the end it wasn't about him or anyone else or what they expected me to be.  I had to decide for myself, and I did.  Now you have to decide.  Not just about this, but about your life as a whole and how you want to live it.  I'm not saying the fate of your entire existence hangs on what you decide in the next few moments.  You can always change your mind later on, but you have to start somewhere."  He paused.  A cheeky grin appeared on his face and he said, "There's all that and I also figured you'd slap the shit out of me if I tried.  I don't fancy being bruised for graduation tomorrow.  What with the picture taking and all."

            I tried hard not to smile, but I couldn't help myself.  "Aw, does ickle Draco have sensitive skin?"

            "No.  You fight dirty.  You hit like a boy.  It must be all those books you carry around.  Builds up the arm strength to excessive proportion."

            "Arm strength.  Yes."  My eyes drifted up to his forehead, and I bit my lip to keep from giggling again.  "Did you know," I said, lifting my hand, "that you have dirt, just there."  I touched his forehead, smudging the dirt, feeling the bones beneath his skin.  My hand shook, I shook, but I didn't stop.  His eyelashes were coal black and beneath them his eyes, silver blue.  I never believed in fate or predestination, but the world had worked its will that night and presented me with an option, a previously unrealized possibility, for me to consider.  And I did.  I considered it madness.  I considered it lunacy.  I considered it balmy, crackbrained, unhinged, daft, crazed, manic, and completely unbalanced.

            "So," I said, brushing back a disheveled strand of blonde hair, "are you going to kiss me now or do you plan to just stand there all night watching me work?"

            I considered it about as far from perfect as possible.

            Malfoy smiled another slow, seductive, dazzling smile.  "I say, Granger, there's hope for you yet," he said and then he leaned down and kissed me.

            I considered that the most perfect thing of all.

            And there you have it.  The night my life got flipped upside down and how I decided to keep it that way.  Life with Malfoy hasn't been easy, believe me.  He's stubborn and shameless, competitive and selfish.  But he's also passionate and witty and honest and never, ever boring.  And he loves me.  Even though I tried Quidditch and failed at it spectacularly.  Even though I made him attend Ron and Luna's wedding and play Muggle music at top volume in Malfoy manor and encourage him to work with Harry to rebuild the Ministry.  And I love him, too.  We wouldn't want it any other way.


Challenge requirements:

01. Draco/Hermione, seventh year, last night at Hogwarts.

02. Hermione can't be valedictorian.

03. Either Draco or Hermione needs to give a pep talk (to themselves or to anyone).

04. Someone needs to say, "This is your/our/my/their last chance," somewhere in the story.

05. Goyle must make a public proclamation.

06. At least three of the following superlatives must be mentioned in the story: Most Likely to End Up at St. Mungo's; Next Minister of Magic; Biggest Flirt; Most Changed; Most Likely to Succeed; Most Likely to be Featured in a Witch Weekly Scandal; Biggest Sorting Hat Mix-Up; Most Likely to Play Professional Quidditch.

07. Must be at least 1000 words.