Post Edit: Oops. In my haste, I forgot to proof-read this entirely, thus I had Hermione mumbling...under her desk...when it should be 'under her breath', and I also forgot to attach the mandatory disclaimer! Here we go then.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I don't make any money writing Harry Potter fanfiction. Dig it?

Prologue: The Five Fs

What are the Five Fs, you ask? Well, The Five Fs is a simplistic list of five words that all begins with the letter 'F.' The Five Fs is a rudimentary guideline in which a man—or woman—can utilise to date the opposite sex. The list is as follows:

Find them

Friend them

Feed them

Fuck them

Forget them

Of course, this is only one variation of the Five Fs. Over the years, many users of this basic, albeit clever, list have changed a few of the F-words to suit themselves accordingly—namely the first three listings. Some examples I have encountered are: Feel them, Finger them, Fool them, and French them. However, regardless of whatever new words you incorporate into this list, the general rule is to maintain the last two: Fuck them and Forget them.

Indeed, it is a crude, maybe disgusting, dating guideline. Possibly the worst! For the many sappy, optimistic souls that believe in quickening heart beats, fluttering bellies, and love, this atrocious list would provoke them to indescribable anger! Not to mention the happily-ever-after hopefuls. My goodness, they'll fly into apoplectic fits when they read the final bit about 'Forgetting them'!

Alas, this list is not for the above-mentioned. This list is for realists. For the practical, level-headed people who lead busy lives but still enjoy the occasional good bit of nookie. It is also designed for those who would rather avoid emotional attachments or those who find that falling in love is too much work with not enough gain. Thus, if you are one of those aforementioned, then this list is just right for you.

But isn't this a very selfish list, you ask? And I answer: who cares? This list is not for the considerate. For one to implement this list flawlessly, one must attain a heart of ice and stone. The moment you question the narcissistic undertones of this list, you will find yourself hooked, line and sinker, in A Relationship. You will be lassoed tight by one of the above-mentioned 'sappy, optimistic souls' who are convinced that You Can Change.

Yes, this list is selfish. As I said, it's bloody downright disgusting! But it works. It is the solution to your problems in romance. Why hope for your Soulmate to come waltzing along? No such thing exists! That is a ridiculous notion invented by those romanticist idiots! Instead, live your life your way. Enjoy it, and the person of the night who's sharing your bed. And when you're finished, forget the episode ever happened and start all over again.

If you're truly not convinced of the success of this list, then let me, Hermione Jean Granger, show you how it's done.

Chapter One: Find Them

I stare at my laptop screen with a smug little smile on my face. This article that I am working on is certainly shaping up rather nicely. I don't think I'll be one bit surprised if I win 'Journalist of the Month' with this baby. It is sarcastic, down-to-earth and humourous: the perfect mix. Not even Jeanne, with her cruddy, lovey-dovey, vomit-inducing piece about how fucking wonderful 'being in a committed relationship is' is going to get it. This time around, I will be the champion, bitch!


Anyway, regardless if I win—which I will—I am happy enough that Peter accepted my proposal of this piece. It hadn't been easy. It had taken much pestering, begging, demanding and knicker-showing to get him around to the idea, but eventually that stubborn Peter Mosley had buckled. With bulging eyes directed at my crossed legs, he'd licked his lips and agreed. The pervert.

Still, that is the past; this is the present. Writing this article will not be all fun and games. It is my duty to carry out a real-life practical about what I am writing. I am to find a man, friend a man, feed a man, fuck a man, forget a man, and then write my experience up for all and sundry to read. My example is to be the proof of the efficacy of this list. I am to show the world that love is for the blind, and that the blind who lead the blind all fall over in a ditch, and that deep, dark, damned ditch is love. Simple, really.

No, it is not.

How am I to convince the masses that love, from my eight years of horrible experiences, is a bad thing? That it is a worthless, evil, and over-possessive emotion that worms its way into your psyche and destroys you from within? That when you fall into its clutches, it strips you bare and leaves you open for an attack that takes forever to heal? That it robs you of all independence, coherency and sensibility?

A vague memory of Ron threatens to become lucid before I immediately blink and force it away. I don't want to think of Ron. I don't have enough time for that. I have to find a man, and quick too. My piece is due by the first week of next month, which means I have just about four weeks to implement my Five Fs dating regime and make it work.

But where am I to find a bloke willing enough?

I laugh to myself. What am I thinking? Finding a bloke to shag was as easy as—

"Granger!" It is Peter Mosley, editor-in-chief of 'Bewitched,' a magazine with a similar premise like the Muggles' 'Cosmopolitan.' It is filled to the brim with articles on why to have sex, how to have sex, when to have sex, where to have sex, and with whom to have sex. A very educational magazine, I must say.

"Yes?" I respond.

"C'mere, we've a newbie on deck."

I stand, sighing heavily, then glare at my other sniggering co-workers. However, I couldn't fault them. If it'd been me, I would've been sniggering too. It isn't oodles of fun, fun, fun being the resident Babysitter to the Trainee. Good grief, the questions those trainees tended to ask! Had I been like that once? Impossible. I am never such a swot.


I make my way to Peter's office, grumbling under my breath about inconsiderate lazy lechers for bosses. When I enter his cavernous suite—and I say suite due to the adjoining bathroom and bedroom hidden behind his bookshelf—I find him seated behind his expansive desk in his plushy, bloody-expensive leather chair, and his feet on his desk, ankles crossed. He is engaged in a conversation with a blond-haired fellow who is seated as well, his back turned to me.

Ah, the newbie. Blond, too. Looks fake. Probably dyed…

"Mr. Mosley," I announce myself.

"Ah, Granger," he greets with a smile that, for some reason, only showcase the top-half of his teeth. It never ceases to amaze me of Peter Mosley's incredible likeness to Harry's Uncle Vernon. Both of them with their portly bodies, beady eyes and awful moustaches that…that wiggled sometimes without warning, and without cause. "Glad that you're here."

"Yes, because you called," I say sweetly.

"Yes, yes," he nods, then motions to the new guy. My gaze redirects to the back of his blond head again, then travel downwards. Strong shoulders, wide. Possibly a gymnasium fanatic. "Granger, this is our new guy on staff…"

By the way, why hasn't he turned around yet?

"…he'll be replacing Jerry on the men's section…"

Is he nervous? Maybe he's hideous?


"What?" I am slapped back to reality at the sound of the name.

The blond man stands, and in the moments before he turns, I register his fine, obviously tailored grey suit. Must have cost an arm and a leg, then a few bags of galleons too…

Peter gives me an irritated look. "Are you deaf? I said, his name is—"

"Draco…" I whisper as I find myself face to face with an older, gorgeous version of my school nemesis. His sky-grey eyes find mine, our gazes lock like heat missiles finding their targets. My goodness, when did he become so good-looking? When?



And without even questioning the sanity of such a decision, my mind is made up on the spot. At one glance—lust at first sight, no doubt—I have found the bloke that I will consequently friend, feed, fuck—oh my!—and forget.

Find him? Check!

AN: So how'd you like it? This is new to me on many counts: my first first-person in fanfiction, my first written-in-present tense, and my first Hermione-is-quirky. Do hope you like my version of her because I really, really do. This is not going to be a long and drawn out story so be warned! I can't say for sure how long, but it MAY not surpass ten chapters. Anywho, feedback would be wonderful! :)