Began: February 24, 2017
Published: February 26, 2017
Edited: -
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A week later, Hermione had nearly driven herself mad. Glancing at the clock on the wall every five seconds, she swears to herself that if the year was going to pass by as slowly as the last ten minutes had, she would be at the same mental age as Prof- Headmistress McGonagall. And being over sixty at only nineteen did not sound very appealing to her at all.

With a sigh, she turns around once more to pace the length of her living room again. But with her paying more attention to the fireplace out of the corner of her eye, she walks right into her coffee table. Or, perhaps the better wording is, her pinky toe walks right into the coffee table.

She had gotten crucio-d countless times, "mudblood" carved into her arm, and all other kinds of torture, but the agony of banging one's toe into something was so frustratingly common that she couldn't help but feel like the universe was just trying to make her suffer. After all, stubbed toes and paper cuts were alike in the fact that the pain was so everyday, it seemed mundane to mention to anyone, yet too stinging to simply brush away.

So of course, since it wasn't like she was going to call up Ginny to rant about her toe, she had to do the next best thing.

Which meant hopping on one foot while clutching her toe and cursing out the only thing that would listen—the very coffee table that had dealt such an injustice to her.

There was enough on her mind to worry about without needing to deal with this pain as well. And maybe she was being overly dramatic—in fact, her own mind was telling her the same thing as she was doing this. But she was already so stressed from preparing for Pansy, or whoever the RODEC program was choosing as a test rat, that this just broke her.

Unfortunately for her, there was indeed a person (actually, two) who was there to listen to her rant.

And that is how Draco Malfoy became one of the few people to have ever heard Hermione Granger curse.

"If I had known this was all it took to break you," a smooth male voice pierces through Hermione's ranting, "I would've simply placed a clumsy charm on you and been done with it. Perhaps you and Longbottom would've made even better acquaintances then."

Hermione freezes, slowly putting her foot down and basically hobbling to turn around. If she were to write a story, this would be the moment she would say "his silver orbs seemed to pierce through her gold-flecked chocolate ones, and right into her soul." And perhaps it would be accurate. Because at that moment, Draco's eyes had some sort of glint in it that made her wonder if he had somehow discovered a secret to torment her over for the next year.

But unlike those stories, where the girl would then break eye contact and blush and stammer something incoherent, Hermione lifts her chin and matches his gaze. "Excuse me," she says calmly, and although she isn't looking at the Ministry worker, her words are definitely addressed to him, "Will you please tell me why there is a blonde ferret in my living room?"

Draco's lips immediately curl at her words, as his mind flashes back at the incident he was still waiting to be forgotten. "Didn't you hear?" He asks, tone dripping with sarcasm, "We get to be best of friends for the next year. How fun!"

Of course, this was new to him too, but clearly she was caught unaware and he wasn't about to let that go without a couple gibes.

And his words strike their target. Hermione flinches, and her eyes break contact with his as she turns to the Ministry worker. "Is this true? Is he really the person you're making me deal with?"

"We're not making you do anything, Miss Granger," he replies, shifting on his feet with clear unease, "We informed you of this last time. Did Mr. Fletcher not do so?"

And as Hermione thinks back, remembering how distracted she became at the prospect of getting all buddy-buddy with Pansy, only to miss the fact that is wasn't Pansy at all, the only words she could think to say were the very ones she criticized Ron for using so often.

"Bloody hell."

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(A/N): May or may not have channeled my inner Zeus when she stubbed her toe.