NOTE: Since returning to writing fan fiction (after not doing so for over five years) and publishing my new work, it has come to my attention that people are still reading this. That's fine, but I have now realised that I need to make certain things clear.


Feel free to read this story. However, please be aware that I STARTED and COMPLETED this story over FIVE YEARS AGO (Mid 2007) when I was sixteen. It is not reflective of my work, I am well aware of its faults and I am only keeping it up for the sake of posterity.

If you intend to leave a review, please do not include ANY of the following criticisms:

1) It reminds you of 'Gossip Girl'.

2) Harry, Ron, Hermione and co wouldn't wear designer clothing.

3) The characters are - occasionally or otherwise - OOC

4) The change in POVs is confusing. I can't help you if that is the case. If you cannot keep up, that isn't 2012 TBOF's problem. Don't like it, don't read it.

5) The spelling/grammar isn't up to par. I published the first draft - un-betaed and often written and not read through. It isn't an issue with my recent work.

If you're looking for work that is considerably better, feel free to skip this story and head over to my profile. If you want to read this story anyway, feel free to do so and read my other work afterwards, if only for the sake of comparison. It is infinitely better.

I, myself, haven't read this story since 2007 as it is almost painful for me to do so. I cannot even get through a few chapters without cringing. Is it the worst fan fic in history? Absolutely not. But it isn't representative of my recent work.

Anyway, without further ado...

Chapter One:

A Very Bad Beginning To The Year…




A scream so loud that it shatters an old lady's eardrum five miles away, erupts from Hermione Granger's mouth. Hands clenched at her sides and breathing heavily, she is the perfect image of sheer fury.

An extremely good-looking young man of around 18 years of age with platinum blonde hair and ocean blue eyes, storms into the expansive, luxuriously decorated, all white bathroom, wearing a pair of designer jeans and a white t-shirt.

"What is it now Granger? You always seem to want something," Draco Malfoy drawls, an eyebrow raised in annoyance. Hermione swirls around to face him, wavy brown hair swaying around her slender shoulders. Her lightly tanned skin now glows an angry red. In one hand she now holds as wet, white towel.

"I just picked this off the floor, Malfoy. And do you want to know why I had to do that?" she asks in a deceptively calm voice, shaking slightly with barely suppressed anger.

"Not exactly, no," is the insolent reply the young man gives as he inspects himself in the mirror over the sink. To say that he doesn't give a damn would be an understatement. His comment, however, is instantly ignored by the Head Girl, whose fury is now threatening to overwhelm her.

" Because you left it there! Left it there like there is some fucking maid who will pick up after your miserable arse!" Hermione yells, throwing the towel at Draco who, whilst still facing the mirror, raises a lazy hand to catch it effortlessly.

"Please, Granger. Do not flatter yourself. You could never be my maid- they're usually better looking. Heck, I have dogs that are more attractive than you are," he replies, disdain dripping from every syllable. Hermione's chocolate brown eyes as her anger erupts from her.

"Why don't you just go and jump off a cliff, Malfoy. Lord knows everyone would be a hell of a lot happier without you."

"Oh, please mudblood. You know you want me."

" Never in this lifetime, nor the next. You stupid, idiotic, pathetic excuse for a human being."

"You know what, Granger? Sometimes I wish you could stand in my shoes. Then you'd see what a drag it is to see your ugly face every morning."

"I hope you die a very miserable death, you stupid git."

"I'm sure you'll be the cause of it."

"Go to Hell."

"Just as long as you go there first."


With this final scream of annoyance, the Head Girl swirls around and stalk off, making sure to slam her bedroom door. She leaves behind an extremely satisfied, smirking Draco Malfoy.



"I just hate him so bloody much!" I glare in Malfoy's direction over at the Slytherin's table, while violently chopping my sausages into tiny pieces wishing they were his nether regions instead. As I pause in my efforts to raise a now miniscule bit of sausage to my lips, he looks up at me, says something to Pansy, and returns my stony glare. Resist the urge to kill him Hermione. At least whilst there are witnesses around.

I'm seated at the Gryffindor table between Harry and Ron, my two best friends, attempting to eat my breakfast in peace. Around us, our fellow Seventh Years are all checking out each others' outfits. You see, just last week Dumbledore, the Headmaster, introduced a new rule which allows us Seventh Years to wear home clothes, rather than the stuffy old school uniform… not that there was anything wrong with it-but it's just nicer to be able to wear our own clothes.

(I am debuting a short, Dolce and Gabbana bleached denim skirt, a white racer-back tank top and Manolo flip-flops with my wavy hair in a messy bun. All these are clothes Dad and I purchased while shopping in Kings Road during the summer.)

Harry, who is wearing his perpetual uniform of a jeans and a white Gucci t-shirt, nervously tries to remove my knife from my grasp but ceases this foolishness when I slap his hand. Ron, seeing this, rolls his eyes.

" Oh, come on Hermione. What have those sausages ever done to you?" he asks, mouth filled with a mixture of eggs, baked beans and only know what else.

I turn my eyes to glare in his direction but cease my mutilation of said produce.

"I'm serious, you guys. On of these days I swear I'm going to kill that fool and I fear that day is getting ever closer." I say, eyes narrowing as I begin to unconsciously toy with my knife.

"Mione, sweetheart, you know that I completely agree with you about that evil, had-a-death-eater-for-a-father git, but I do not think that aiming a knife in his direction, in front of witnesses, is going to help at all."

At this, I come to and release that, yes, I am indeed practising aiming my knife at Malfoy's head. I sigh, lean back against my chair and allow Harry to succeed in easing my fantasy death-bringing tool out of my fingers.

"It's true," Ron backs Harry up, whilst resting his chair on only two legs (he's just asking for someone to push him over and I may just be the person to do it). "If Malfoy so much as puts a finger on you, we'll kill him. But until that day comes, don't do anything that you may not be able to reverse."

I nod and, giving up on my decimated sausages, pick out an apple from the centre-basket.

"Got it."


"Dear God, I hate that mudblood bitch." I snarl at Pansy, before returning Granger's icy glare. Pansy turns to me and rolls her expressive blue eyes.

"For crying out loud, Draco. We have been through this over and over again," she sighs, leaning back in her chair in exasperation. "You hate her, fine, we get it. But the way you go on about her borders on obsession. One could almost say-and I say almost only because I know what you're capable of- that you were in love with her."

At this, I splutter uncontrollably, the pumpkin juice I just drank spraying everywhere. WHAT? Is this woman HIGH?

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, WOMAN?" I bellow, startling a couple of first years so much that one topples off of his chair with a sharp shriek. "ARE YOU HIGH? NEVER IN THIS LIFETIME, NOR THE NEXT!" I pause to take a breath as I realise that I've just used Granger's exact words of earlier. Pansy just shrugs and turns away.

"Whatever, freak. Just stop pestering me about her. I hear enough about her as it is."

I glare at her back, angry that she has the nerve to turn it on me in the middle of a convo. I turn to my left, to Blaise, the one person who I'm sure will understand.

"Blaise, my brother. You agree, don't you?" I ask, widening my eyes dangerously in order to force him to agree with me, which he will do – if he values the way he looks that is.

The tall, good-looking black boy turns to look at me with something others less experienced in the ways of Blaise would think is pity but I really know is mocking.

"Completely, man." He says, his trademark eyebrow raise coming into effect. "I mean, it's not like you're unhealthily obsessed with her or anything." He grins, knowing he has succeeded in angering me even further, before turning back to continue chatting up the pretty girl beside him.



Harry, Ron and I wait patiently outside the potions dungeon-5 minutes early. There is no way that I am going to allow them to be late for the umpteenth time since school began only five days ago, enabling Snape to deduct yet more points all too happily from Gryffindor.

"So, yeah, Fred was all to happy to demonstrate precisely how many times he could turn my favourite cup into a tarantula while I was still holding it this summer." Ron shudders, while Harry and I erupt into ready laughter. I shake my head as I giggle. It's impossible not to help but imagine-

"Potty. Weasel. Mudblood." An instantly recognisable drawl shivers its way down my spine. GOD NO. GOD. NO. We turn to see our worst enemy, backed by his usual lackeys-Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle. Instinctively, Harry and Ron move forward to back me on either side.

"Ferret," I reply, coldly, folding my arms. What the fuck is his problem now? A smirk curls his full bottom lip.

"Now, let me see. How long can we go, Granger, before we pull out our wands?" he raises and an eyebrow coolly, whilst I glare at him, feeling pent up rage from the past week building up within me.

"Why don't you just piss off, Malfoy?" I say, through gritted teeth. I'm barely holding my anger in. One excuse. Just one excuse and I will jinx his miserable arse from here to Kingdom bloody come. His smirk widens into a full-fledged grin, white teeth glinting. This serves to only further infuriate me.

"And what? Are you going to come over here and make me?" There is a look of mocking disbelief on his face. His pig-faced friends smirk along with him. My breathing rate increases and becomes heavier. KILL. KILL. KILL. K- I feel a hand come to rest gently on my shoulder.

"Let it go, Mione. He's not even close to being worth it," Harry says, witheringly, eyes on Malfoy. Should I just let it go? The Ferret coolly raises an eyebrow, waiting. How dare he? You know what? Maybe I should give him what he so obviously came begging for. But, no. And don't assume that it's because I'm backing down- I'm just saving my rage for later, when there is nobody around. That and Snape just came round the corner.


There is an obvious divide between the two houses seated in the potions dungeon. The Gryffindors are seated to the right, glaring at the Slytherins who are seated to the left and are returning the favour. Each side is daring the other to make the first move.

And now for a little background information. Hermione Granger-can you see her? She's the beautiful, brown haired girl seated next to the good-looking, black haired guy with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead- is the Gryffindor Princess. She is not addressed as so –to her face anyway- but it is common knowledge that she is. Harry Potter (AKA the Boy Who Lived… ah…you recognise him now as the black haired kid) and Ron Weasley, whom Hermione aided in the defeat of Voldemort, are more like overprotective brothers than friends. Any boy who wishes to date her has to go through them first. As a result of this, and her other great accomplishments (such as having brains as well as being gorgeous), all the girls respect her, frequently flock around her and come to her for advice, and all the guys respect and are very protective of her.

In turn, Draco Malfoy is the widely acclaimed Slytherin Prince. He is not addressed as so but he is widely known as such. What he says goes, his word is law. (Pssst…stop looking so desperately-I'll lose my job. He's the good-looking platinum haired dude smirking in the Gryffindors' general direction.). The guys want to be him and the girls want to be with him.

Why do I mention this, you ask? Well, the majority of face-offs between the two opposing houses occur as a result of a disagreement between their Prince and Princess. Just a friendly hint.

Ok, back to where we were (to keep you up to date, as a result of our chatting away in the back of the classroom, Snape has now moved on to giving the class their instructions. We'd better pay attention or he may catch us talking and deduct points.)

"Today, you will be brewing a love potion. With the aid of a partner, you will follow the instructions on the board and bottle some of the essence, before handing it in to me. I will then test it on some mice and grade you." Snape's lip curls, sardonically, before he continues on to say, "Some of you may find this task harder than others." With this, he glances in Neville Longbottom's general direction with a barely suppressed smirk on his face. Hermione's eyes flicker sympathetically in Neville's direction.

"Your instructions-" Snape waves his wand and white writing appears behind him, "-are on the board. Your ingredients-" with another wave he opens the supply cabinet, " are in the cupboard. You have half an hour. Begin." Instantly, there is a rush towards the cupboard as nobody wants to get the leftover ingredients from last year. Lord only knows what the Weasley twins put in them.


Just as I start to pull my mini cauldron out of my over-sized Chanel bag, I hear a slight cough from behind me and whirl around to see-

"Hermione," Neville begins, his eyes downcast, and shifting nervously from foot to foot, "can I be your partner? I mean, I really don't want to fail this class, and since you're really good, I just thought-"

"Of course, you can Neville," I smile, pulling out a stool from beside me. "Sit down." Smiling gratefully, he settles down into the seat and sets down his ingredients. God, I hope he doesn't mess this up.


Pssst… is it just me, or do you have a bad feeling about this too?


29 minutes later…

"OK! Times up. Bottle what you have, bring it to my desk and you will receive your grades next lesson," Snape snaps, sharply, turning over an egg timer with his words. Everyone seizes a vial and follows his instructions. I glance down at our potion, which is simmering nicely, a heavenly pink. I'm pleasantly surprised by Neville. Well, aren't you? He's managed not spill anything and has followed all the instructions carefully.

He reaches forward to grab a vial, and, just as his fingers are about to reach it, his hand lightly brushes the cauldron and it wobbles slightly. FUCK NO. Maybe I spoke too damn-


In seemingly slow motion, the cauldron tips back and forth. Hermione, being right in its way, understandably shrieks in fright, gaining the entire class' attention. Everyone's gaze, including ours from the back of the classroom, is on her and the tipping cauldron.

Is it going to stop? But, oh no-wait… the cauldron seems to make up its mind and , as the Head Girl attempts to step back, falls to the ground, spilling its viscous contents all over the unfortunate soul.

There are gasps as a purple haze spreads upwards from the source of the disaster at her feet to her head. We all hold her breath as she blinks twice and turns in the direction of the Slytherins.


OH, MY GOD. Something is happening that no one ever expected…


If u like this remember to review and I'll post the next chappie up within a week…

You know you love me…