Disclaimer: I own nothing except the basic story thing and even then it's unclear. JK Rowling and whoever else actually own the characters, settings, and things.

Done with the boring part. This is a new story. I'm real fond of it so I hope you like it too. If so, please let me know.

Love, FireStorm

Malfoy searched his dorm room for his note book. It had notes from the advanced review session yesterday and he absolutely had to study them. Granger was probably already in Room 617 on the sixth floor and was getting impatient. Damn Blaise for reorganizing the room. He did that from time to time; called in house elves and had them completely rearrange and redecorate the little suite that they shared. A special privilege of Slytherin seventh years was that they only had to share a room with one other person. They had suites with a small sitting room, private bathroom and two separate bedrooms though Blaise insisted the decors always match. The theme now was modern; stainless steel, glass and dark wood with trendy, uncomfortable but cool looking chairs, stark or no patterns and few personal belongings on display. A show room really. Malfoy couldn't care less what his room looked like; really he was not that high maintenance. All he needed was a comfortable bed and a desk and enough space for all his books.

He finally unearthed the notebook in a hide-away bookshelf behind one of the steel panels along the wall. He grabbed his bags and books and dashed into his sitting area where Blaise, Pansy, Knott, Crabbe, Goyle, Millicent and the sixth years were sitting smoking and drinking.

"Headed off to study?" Blaise asked loudly, taking the hookah hose and handing his glass of scotch to Pansy.

"As usual," he said and left.

He couldn't remember all the details of how it started, exactly. Sometime during fifth year he had been studying in the classroom-turned-sitting-room when Granger popped in accidentally. He was reviewing charms because, really, it was his worst subject. Would he ever need a dish washing charm or plant watering charm? No. But he had to learn it because "A Malfoy never relies on those beneath him" so he had to know how to wash his dishes and water his plants with magic because doing it by hand was…too hard? He had done his own dishes (punishment for something) and watered his own plants (because he never allowed elves in his own green houses) and it was easier than learning the charms.

In any case, he had inadvertently asked Granger for help and they had spent several hours studying together. They soon realized it was easier and more efficient with someone else and formed a shaky, behind-the-scenes sort of truce and, now, perhaps a friendship. He was still rude to her in public but never meant it and she knew that and she did her best to casually defend him when Harry and Ron went off.

She was indeed sitting in one of the chairs with a book on her lap and a cheery fire going and the chandelier brightly lit and a tray of cookies and two steaming mugs of tea on the side table. When she got there first, which was always, she set up snacks for them and made sure the room was well lit so they didn't strain their eyes.

"Sorry I'm late," he said and kicked the door closed. "Blaise redecorated so everything is hidden."

She just hummed in response.

"Hermione?" he questioned, "You doing okay?"

"Of course," she looked up, "The stupid Ravenclaw prefects want to have a mid-winter dance."

He blanched, "Really?"

She nodded, "Quite the waste of time, I think."


"Why did you pass up Head Boy?"

He looked at her, "What makes you think I was even offered the position?"

"You were, weren't you?"

"Of course I was," he sat down, "But I said no because a) I don't like the administration here, b) I didn't want to live away from my house, c) I have too much else to do and being Head Boy would complicate…things."


"Mostly my sleep schedule and it would make me feel guilty for letting Blaise host the Mid-Week Smoke and Drink A-thon."

"Is he still doing that?" she asked. It was what Draco had walked through to get to his study session; upper-year Slytherins sitting around smoking hookah and drinking and gossiping. Two of the three were against major school rules and their gossip was always rude so it would have made he feel guilty that way too.

"It's tradition," Malfoy said, "Can't not have it."

"That's silly," she said. "Do you still smoke?"

"Meh," he shrugged, "When I feel like it."

"Oh." She turned the page in her book.

"How're the boys?" he asked, casually making conversation.

"Oh my god!" she slammed her book shut and turned to face him, "Ron said the most ridiculous thing this morning."

Draco turned fully towards her, intent on listening.

"I woke them up for breakfast and Harry got up like usual and sort of zombie'd downstairs because I'm fairly certain he didn't sleep at all but Ron came down twenty minutes later and says 'someone really needs to tell Neville he snores' and Harry said, 'no, you snore, Neville barely breathes when he sleeps' and Ron says, get this, 'I don't breathe at all when I sleep.'"

Malfoy shook his head, "And you're dating him?"

She blushed, "He's not that bad…usually. He's nice to me and that's what's important."

"Everyone's nice to you Granger, if you date boys who are nice to you, you'd be shagging the whole school." He rolled his gray eyes.

She looked taken aback, "Just because we're dating doesn't mean we're shagging! Ron and I have never done anything more than kissed and even then it's not very often."

He turned back to her; shocked and intrigued, "Really? I didn't know chaste girls still lived. All I have to go on is Pansy and she shags on the first date while Millicent…well, she would but no one's asked her out."

Hermione blushed, "I just don't think it's an appropriate thing to do at school."

"What about the summer?"

"Then we're at his parent's house and that's even more inappropriate!"

"Merlin! If he doesn't get some action soon he's going to get drunk and snog Lavender or something stupid."

"He will not."

"You know he's probably wanking every night because, to be honest, he's seventeen, has a hot girlfriend and gets no action. He can't possibly be happy about that."

"Yuk," she made a face, "How can you talk about that sort of thing?"

"It's just not a big deal, I guess. You only have to walk in on a roommate screwin' the pooch a few times before you are sort of forced to talk about it. We actually had a schedule worked out for fourth and fifth years…"

She laughed.

"I had Mondays and Wednesdays during lunch, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't but thanks," she blushed again.

"Though, come to think of it, I never had to use my time slot since I had Riann in fourth year and whatsherface…Colleen in fifth year."


"Riann was one of the French girls here for the Tournament and Colleen was some Hufflepuff girl who graduated that year; fun little distractions but nothing serious."

"You're such a playboy," she said.

"Here's my advice: get on your boyfriend or he'll do something stupid because, to be honest, he's Weasley and you know he will even if he still loves you. Your first time tends to be awkward but I promise it gets better."

She blushed again, "You are too sexual Malfoy."

"Father always says; a Malfoy is never inexperienced, he must know his way around women because then she never has a reason to go anywhere else. Though, it is a little ironic since mum's been having an affair with Severus since I was twelve…hmm," he rolled that thought around in his head.


"Let's just say she spends a lot of time 'in Dublin.'"


"The Snape family has lived in Dublin for about three hundred years; it's where their ancestral home is."

"Oh," she nodded, "Does your father know?"

"Possibly," he shrugged, "If he does he never talks about it."

Narcissa was a charming woman and, according to every male friend Draco had ever had, she was "bloody hot" though Draco never appreciated his mother on that level. She had the same pale blonde hair as Draco and creamy skin and affluence for looking good and they shared their long legs and fingers and slim build and prominent cheek bones and pouty lips.

Draco had much less in common with his father. Beyond looking extremely similar there was little connecting them. Even now, though, the young heir was growing to look more and more like his mother. His youth was dominated by "oh, you look just like your father, how handsome" and "was Narcissa even involved?" ha. Ha. He personally thought he was an ugly kid with a pointy face and possibly the most annoying hairdo ever. His connection with Lucius was confined mostly to their intellect and understanding that men and especially Malfoy men, had to know how to control anyone. The ability to pick up a person's weaknesses instantly was something he learned and appreciated because it often got him exactly what he wanted. He knew it was better to be polite and just ask but that's not how Malfoys do thing and for no reason other than that he wanted to talk to Lucius as little as possible, he did things the Malfoy way.

"That's not a good home life," Hermione commented.

"True but I'm almost never home."

"What about the summers?"

"I'm at Blaise's, Pansy's, in Paris or Monaco."


They studied then, discussing trivial matters between debating magic formulas and the way spells interacted and whether or not runes were that necessary when dealing with smaller spells that would not counteract or negate each other anyways.

"Oh," Hermione looked at the clock, "It's nearly ten, I have to-"

The door opened, "Hey, 'Mione, where are you?"

It was Ron.

Draco considered then the extreme advantages to being either very tiny (so he could hide easily) or invisible.

"What the hell is that prick doing here?" Ron was immediately outraged and stomped over to where Malfoy was sitting.

"Ron, calm down," Hermione jumped in front of him and tried to stop him.


"We were studying," he explained.

"I thought you were with Neville and Seamus!"

"Really?" She looked at him like he was a little bit dumb. "They're at Quidditch practice with Harry every Wednesday."

"I-" Ron made a face and then glared at Malfoy. "Why him?"

"He has the best marks in our classes, better than mine in some cases and we study best together."

"But…he's a jerk." Ron was becoming more confused.

"I know," she said, "But he's a good study partner so-"

"What's going on?" Harry walked in then and stopped upon seeing the occupants…mostly upon seeing Malfoy. "Mione…?"

"I should get going," Draco stood and began to put his books away.

"Where are you going, Malfoy, running away?" Ron tried to pick a fight again.

Malfoy quietly sighed because he knew what was expected of him, "I'm trying to leave without having to point out that it's because of your atrocious odor, Weasley. I know your family is poor but must you forgo showering even here? They don't charge for it, I promise."

Ron snarled and tried to get closer but Hermione stayed put in his way.

"You're a total prat, Malfoy. No wonder you don't have any friends," Ron said.

Malfoy lifted his head, looked him right in the eye and smirked, "Oh, Weasley, you're stupider than you look." He put his bag over his shoulder and walked out, "You should take my advice Granger, it's actually fun once you get used to it."

He walked out, brushing past Potter who, unfortunately, was now about three inches taller than him. Draco had stopped growing at five' nine but the Gryffindors tended to top six foot. Bloody giants.

"What advice?" He heard Ron ask.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Professor McGonagall was approaching the room from the other direction.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked. Though a prat to her students he was perfectly respectable to her. He had actually known Professor McGonagall since he was very young since she worked with Snape, his godfather. In public she always appeared disapproving but she really rather like him.

"I received Severus' invitation to his Boxing Day party, I should hope you'll be going." Severus had the entire faculty over on Boxing Day. Most of them got quite drunk and had a wonderful time outside the pressures of the professional setting.

"Oh, of course ma'am," Draco had gone to the party each year since he was a eleven, helping to serve drinks and food and make sure Trewalny did not hurt herself.

"Very well then," she patted his shoulder. That was as much affection as she ever showed for anyone, in public at least.

He kept going and rail-slid down all six staircases even though the paintings yelled at him that he was going to break his neck and die. He kept going into the dungeons, past doors and doors and tapestries and people and statues and torches and armor. He happened upon an expanse of wall and told it, "Patris" and it opened for him. The large, circular opening gave him a view of the huge common room stuffed with couches, sofas, chairs, tables, three fireplaces and book shelves beyond reason. The shelves had dual purposes: they both encouraged reading and intelligence in the snakes but were also passages into dorm rooms. He pulled a book and followed the narrow, steep passage into a room which connected all the seventh year boy's dorms. He took the far left door and entered his smoke-filled steel and glass sitting room.

They had switched to something other than tobacco in the hookah.

"Hey, Drake," Blaise looked at him, "Smoke?"

"Not tonight," he walked past them into his room and set all his things down. Then he returned and picked up the fifth of apple twist vodka sitting, half done, on the table. "I'll take this though."

Blaise grinned.

Draco did not smoke much this year, he stuck to cigarettes or the shishah they used in the hookah. Last year he had smoked weed with them sometimes. The Malfoy family had an epic tolerance for alcohol though, bred for generations to be able to out drink anyone; Draco alone could go through a fifth and still be totally in control of himself.

"So how was studying?" Pansy asked, she sort of rolled her head to look at him, indicating she was wasted.

"Fine," he said and took a swig, "How was…smoking?"

"Awesome," she said with a giggle. "Blaise says you should study less and shag more."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Sometimes I want to agree."

"Why do you always study on Wednesdays? You could be here, with us."

"It's just a convenient day of the week for me and you will always be here and I will always see you. I cannot retake exams or rewrite essays whenever I want," he said and drank more.

"Nor can you redo friendships or re-live time," Blaise said, "You should live your youth while you can."

"I'll always be young, Blaisey." He said and almost laughed.