Hello, lovey, and welcome to my Dramione fic. Issue #1.

Disclaimer: Like Archie Comics, Harry Potter belongs to someone entirely not me.

Hermione Granger.


He scoffed, snorted, and turned his head so that he was facing away from her profile. He turned back and glared at her, then snorted again and turned away. She hadn't noticed any of this. Unsatisfied, he "Humph"ed loudly and threw a particularly nasty facial expression in her direction. She didn't look up. Well, this was simply uncalled for. How dare she not notice him: the Slytherin Prince? The sole tormentor of the unpure? The blonde and beautiful god of all things nasty? Hater of Mudbloods, Half-Breeds, House Elves, Gryffindors, (pretty much everything, really), and especially Hermione Granger, the Queen of Disgusting Incarnate? How dare she not notice him! He was Draco Malfoy, for God's sake! Simply uncalled for. That's what it was.

He tried again.

"Harumph." No reaction. "Harumph." No reaction. "GRANGER!"

"Five points from Slytherin," the librarian sneered drolly, not glancing away from the large and dusty volume perched on her lap. Hermione, however, had dropped her book and was now standing with her face to him, hands on her hips and annoyance in her eyes.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" she hissed, bending to pick up the seven-thousand page encyclopedia that he had caused her to release. He found himself transfixed by the vehement intensity of her rather large dark eyes, unwavering and unnervingly locked to his.

"I hate you," he said hastily, choosing to pair his rather unmoving insult with a devious smirk. She rolled her eyes.

"You and the rest of your pompous and animalistic friends. Anything else?" she asked, rising off the floor. He flicked his quill off the rectangular wooden table.

"Oh, my. Isn't that unfortunate? Well. That's what Mudbloods are for. Pick it up," he commanded. She raised an eyebrow.

"And deny you the opportunity? I wouldn't dream of it. Good day," she finished, flipping around so violently that her hair practically smacked him in the face.

"Hmph," he muttered after an initial moment of shock, kicking the quill farther away from himself. Malfoy that he was, Draco was intent on winning this duel. This mini-game of duels, rather. Annoying the snot out of Granger before crushing her utterly was routine. His day was filled with various opportunities for success in that particular area.

Nonetheless, he was not about to forfeit this one.

"Granger!" he called again. She didn't even hesitate--only threw up one arm in dismissal and continued stomping away from him. It was then that he noticed her pumps. Her bright yellow, open-toed, four-and-a-half-inch pumps. She had decided to pair them with gray woolen tights, and the way that the fabric hugged the curve of her leg caused him to lurch forward in alarm. His mother had told him that a good pair of shoes could do wonders for even the homeliest of females, and he had simply discarded this useless bit of information until this very moment. He found himself on his feet without realizing when he had stood.


"Another five points, Mister Malfoy," the librarian reprimanded, looking away from her book to glare at him over the tops of thick-rimmed spectacles. He half-bowed in an awkward manner and pursued his bushy-haired rival through a maze of shelves and finally out into the hallways.

She stood just outside the library doors, waiting for him silently and with one eyebrow cocked. She pursed her lips as he approached and adjusted the messenger bag hanging off her shoulder. "Well?" she prodded after a moment of him staring dumbfounded at her. He came to his senses rather quickly, turning on the charm in a sickening way.

"You seem to have forgotten your quill," he offered, thinking quickly and extracting a long-feathered pen from his inside pocket. She rolled her eyes.

"That's yours, Malfoy."

"Are you sure?" he muttered, looking at it as if he genuinely hadn't known. She huffed angrily and pointed out the monogrammed "D.M."

"Is that all?"

He dropped the pen at her feet and drew a sharp intake of breath, as if just noticing something. "Your shoes are yellow," he commented. She looked down at her feet and blushed. Obviously, she was self-conscious about her choice of footwear. That was rather like her, actually, to test boundaries in such a blatant way, while still seeking acceptance from others. He smirked. This would be easy. He thanked God for her lack of confidence. It would be much more difficult to effectively insult a self-accepting female.

"I rather like them." She narrowed her eyes. "Really, I do," he finished, gesturing at her feet and then gesturing to his face and smiling to prove his point. Her toes pointed inwards, as if trying to hide the colorfulness. "They distract me from your rather repulsive, homely face." He tilted his head to one side and smiled sweetly.

"You're a complete ass, do you know that?" she asked.

"I do, actually. And thank you, I've been working on it." She opened her mouth to offend him in some way but he spoke quickly. "It's a pity you chose them in that color. The Weasel can't borrow them, they clash with his hair. But you can always lend them to Pothead, yellow matches his eyes, right?"

Hermione's face darkened and she clenched her teeth. "I--"

And the bell rang.

Draco smirked at her.

"I'll see you later, sunshine-toes."

God, her legs were bloody fantastic.

As Draco handed Pansy his notebook (for she dutifully copied down for him whatever Snape said in every lesson), he stole a glance at the bushy-haired, big-toothed, altogether completely unattractive young witch in front of him. It was in that particular moment that he noticed that her hair wasn't all that unbearable and her teeth weren't all that big. He also noticed that not only was she utterly and entirely attractive, but her legs were also bloody. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

He almost had a heart attack. What would his father say? He cleared his throat and willed himself to insult her mentally.

Fucking Mudblood. What an ugly bucket of ugly slime. Ew. I wouldn't ever touch anything that filthy. I wouldn't ever run my clean, perfect hands up her dirty, filthy--

Shit. This wasn't working. He looked away in frustration and his eyes met Pansy's. She smirked seductively at him and ran her tongue over her upper lip in a way that was probably meant to be alluring. He pulled a face at her and looked away again.

Screw it. He thought. And he spent the next few minutes of class looking straight ahead, inconspicuously locking his eyes on one Muggle-born in particular. She had removed both her cloak and sweater before class in a very un-Hermione manner. On most occasions, every centimeter of skin on her body was completely concealed. Not that he was complaining. Her thin white school shirt made her that much more interesting to watch.

Halfway through the class she bent over in her desk, causing Draco to look up in alarm. She peeled one stocking down to her ankle, ran her hand up her calf, and paused to scratch her knee. Draco's breath hitched in his throat. She pulled her sock up slowly and he watched her suspiciously. Surely she knew that he had been watching her. Surely that display had been just for him.

...She gave no indication. No flirty smirk over her shoulder, no glance in his direction. But she did cross her legs and arch her back, causing him to growl audibly.

A little too audibly, apparently, because four Slytherins interrupted his reverie with their intruding stares. He glared sharply at each one in turn, then decidedly kept his eyes away from Hermione, so as to divert any (completely incorrect) assumptions that he had been admiring her. In any way.

And the bell rang again.

Draco threw a lock of hair behind his ear, slightly flustered, and tossed his books and ink pot into his satchel before getting up. He snatched his notebook away from the girl sitting next to him and tucked it away, attempting to work up enough daring to steal a glance at Hermione. She was looking directly into his eyes when he finally did.

His mouth opened and shut like a gasping fish, and she inclined her head and parted her lips slightly, swinging her bag over her shoulder. Her gaze of moderate confusion turned to one of utter dislike in 0.3 seconds. He mimicked her glare and raised his lip in a sneer that Snape would be proud of. She narrowed her eyes and they stayed looking angrily at each other for at least a quarter of a minute before they were interrupted by none other than the Prince of Pennilessness himself, Ronald Weasley. He wrapped an arm around her waist and asked her a question that Draco didn't hear, for he was too busy gaping in alarm. Hermione's stare was unchanged. Ron traced her line of vision with his finger and spotted Draco, made a face, and turned Hermione around, taking her Potions book in his other hand.

Harry followed the two of them awkwardly, head down and hunched over, as if trying not to think about the fact that his two best friends were now making lovey-faces at each other.

Well, damn, Draco thought. That certainly does complicate things.

But, really. Ron Weasley? Competition? He smirked and lifted his bag over his shoulder in the haughtiest manner he could possibly manage.

After dinner that night Draco headed back to the Library. Normally it wasn't his thing. He was only there that morning to find a book he needed as a reference for Ancient Runes (another class he had with her.)

But he knew he would find Hermione there, and chances are, not Ron. He wasn't the reading type. He was the moronic poor as dirt Muggle-loving type. Draco snickered at his joke and slid open the mahogany doors.

In the corner of the room, almost instantly, he found her: Hunched over another enormous volume and with her fingers drumming the pages.

"Where's Weasel?" he asked with mock kindness, taking a seat next to her.

Hermione jumped in alarm, shaken and surprised, and looked up at him, her perfect lips forming a perfect O.

0.3 seconds and she was angry again. "That's none of your business. Now leave, Malfoy," she demanded, bookmarking her page. Obviously she was preparing to argue with him. He was touched. In a most disgusted manner, of course.

"Make me, Granger."

"Alright, I will, Malfoy."

"How? I don't see your pathetic little friends anywhere, Granger."

"And where are yours, Malfoy?"

"I don't need them to deal with you, Granger."

"We'll just see about that, Malfoy."

"What are you going to do, Granger?"

"I'm going to kick your arrogant ass back in time, Malfoy."

"At least I have an arrogant ass, Granger, you shapeless little--"

"Shapeless? Is that why your eyes are on my breasts, Malfoy?"


"I thought not," she smirked, proud of herself for having won this battle. This small and rather insignificant battle, he reminded himself. He raised one finger and opened his mouth, working on something to say. She batted her eyelashes and rested her chin on her hand. "Going to counter that remark, Malfoy? Or are you out of witty comebacks?" He pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, stood, and placed one hand on her hip, leaning over and smirking down her nose. He stood up, now at least a head taller than her, and drew himself to full height. "I don't need to counter that remark, Granger. Because I am--"

"Because I am Draco Scorpius Malfoy, ruler of all things dark and unholy! And you, Mudblood, are not worthy to shampoo my hair!" she mocked. She finished with a flourish of her hand and went immediately back to sassy bitch mode. "Will that be all, love?" she asked sarcastically.

He blinked at her, then leaned down until he was level with her face, eyes half-lidded and lips curled. She sneered. "'Love?' I must say, I rather like it. But, then, I get to call you muffin."

She reddened and took a step back.

"You insufferable, intolerable, altogether horrible, revolting, slimy, unforgivable, brainless--"

"Five points from Gryffindor," the librarian called out. Hermione's face went blank and her mouth dropped.

Then she slammed her book shut and grabbed her bag, marching away from him, yellow pumps and all.

She was the one for him. He was sure of it.

As disgusting as the reality was.