Contrary to popular belief, the Slytherin prince was not entirely unfeeling. Yes, in all truthfulness, he did wrinkle his nose at the slightest act of compassion, and immediately sniggered (audibly) should one feel even the tiniest bit inclined to show a miserable hint of emotion. And yes, he did have a closet full of smirks, each to a specific situation. He was, by all accounts, insensitive. Numb to all that is remotely real. Moved only by public displays of… bullying. Oh, the joy.

However, and despite his best efforts to conceal it under a very thick layer of sarcasm and cruelty, he was, above all and everything, human. And humans had weaknesses. Sorry, weakness, one –we would not want to castrate him, or something of the sorts.

Draco Malfoy's weakness, much to his dismay, was none other than one Hermione Granger. He cringed, inwardly and openly, every time it dawned on him: he was physically and mentally unable to harm the annoying, irritating, maddening little witch, no matter how hard he tried. And he had tried. Very, very hard.

Once, in his second year, when his infatuation (could he really deem it that?) first showed its claws, it had angered him to a point that a nosebleed suddenly found Draco's nose to be a very suitable home. For two days. He thought her bushy, tangled, horrible hair was, in fact, adorable. Well, off to the infirmary we go. Maybe he could even ask Pomfrey for a cure to his sure-to-be diseased mind. What was father going to say? The horror… the ho-rr-or. After the useless mediwitch repaired his bloody problem – no pun intended – he found that he still, sometimes, when he thought no-one else was looking, stared at the Mudblood's hair as if it had grown a snitch. And her chin… could a chin be pretty? Bugger, he was, undoubtedly and painfully, done. Toasted. Screwed. Someone might as well Avada him, because his otherwise fate would be much more unpleasant.

It was only in his third year that he noticed her eyes. Bloody hell… stupid Granger, with her stupid hair, and her stupid face, and her… eyes? He felt his mouth disengage itself from his brain, say something stup- sorry, unintelligent, and then receive a heartfelt punch. To his face. He slowly opened his eyes to the rhythmic sniggering of both Potty and Weasel, and found that it hurt a little less as he stared right into her brown, fierce, and at that moment furious eyes. Someone kill him. Please?

His forth year was when he (subconsciously) decided to change tactics. For his own piece of mind, his stream of successful insults never ceased, and the corners of his mouth never lifted at the sight of the pretty – pretty boring! bookworm. However, his resolve to never - ever, ever, under any circumstance or dangerous curse – smile resulted in him taking a little pleasure in seeing his female archenemy's face light up from a grin of her own. And so he would, every once in a while, and more often than he cared to admit, give her a reason to smile.

Of course, him being the walking paradox he was, following either a hilarious prank on Weasel (he had once turned his hair slimy green after a fighting match in the Great Hall between him and the bookworm, leaving behind a stunned crimson redhead and a giggling girl) or a random act of kindness- sorry, not-cruelty (such as muttering a spell in Transfiguration that turned Granger's white teacups into Gryffindor-themed ones), he would then proceed to scold himself. In every possible sense of the word. Goyle actually took him to see Professor Snape one time after he found Draco hitting his head in the Slytherins' Common Room wall and mumbling to himself about bloody lovely Gryffindors and their lions.

Fifth year found a more sober Draco to work with. Life wasn't all peaches and roses anymore; he couldn't walk around school shouting curses at unsuspecting first years, or granting points to undeserving snickering Slytherins, or even making the damned Gryffindor princess smile. He could have sworn Potter caught him once… but he didn't stick around to find out, and after the raised eyebrow he got from him after charming Granger's books to follow her in alphabetical order, he scurried down the corridor and never looked back. So, on top of everything – which included dear father's pressure to join the lunatics' club - , his favourite pastime was also, for the better part of it, ruined. Damn Potter and those ridiculously huge glasses… maybe he ought to break them sometime. On the other hand, it would mean another excuse to have freaking Herione Granger fussing all over him. Oh, Harry, you incredibly muscular and adorably tortured wizard. Allow me to fix you glasses. Oh, it's nothing, really, but if you insist on some form of compensation, perhaps some snogging is in order…? Draco's entire self shuddered at the mere thought of Granger's horribly, terribly, disgustingly full lips colliding with Potter's, in a rush of passion. Ew. Yuck. Thank you for the nightmares. Thank you so, so much. Hit me with a lightning, God, I beg of you. It will be quicker, and certainly less painful.

Which brings us to Sixth Year. After the colossal failure that was the previous one (and all the others, for that matter – honestly, what was he trying to accomplish? Bad Draco. Bad. No pining after muggleborns. Mudbloods. Mudbloods! Oh, bloody hell.), he didn't hold much faith as to what this one would bring him. He supposed it would bring him some more responsibilities to shoulder – both inside and outside of Hogwarts - , and with it take away any promise of rewards in the form of simple pleasures. And by simple pleasures, he meant…

"Malfoy."

Oh, how he loved her snappy tone. Maybe if he made her trip… would she be so kind as to give him one of her world-renowned furious stares? Pretty please? With a chocolate frog on top? He wondered if she liked chocolate.

"Why in Merlin's name do you want to know?"

Uh oh. Did he really voice his thoughts aloud? "What are you jabbering on about, Mudblood?" Uff. This time he got it right. Remind yourself to reward your very quick mind with a lemon drop when you get back to the dorm.

"Well, Malfoy," Granger spat venomously. "You all but assaulted me with you far-away gaze and infuriating disregard for stairs policy. I mean… lean on the right if you're going up, stay on the left if you're going down… It's not that difficult, even if you do only have that ferret brain of yours to work with." She pretended to ponder things for a moment. "In hindsight, you're forgiven. I guess I really was expecting too much out of a simple ferret."

Draco merely smirked. What in Merlin's name had he done to deserve such a close-up demonstration of Granger's temper, and when could he do it again? "You look exceptionally ugly today, Granger. Kudos on the new hair." He nodded approvingly, almost too convincingly, and almost as if the word ugly meant something else entirely in his very wide, very Slytheriny vocab.

"Pleasant as usual, I see. Well, then, I best be on my way. Wouldn't want you to lose control over there and curse me into oblivion. Although…" She went down one step – one step closer to him, and smirked back, in a way that made his insides twist, turn, burn, and whatever else they did, making him slightly dizzy. "Although I must congratulate you on your newly found restraint. How very… Hufflepuff of you, darling. Not a single hexing attempt in almost…" She glanced at her wrist. "… seven minutes of relatively civil conversation."

"I try." Really? That's the best you can come up with? Damn Granger and her words, and her big, confusing sentences, and the lips with- uhm… whoa, stop right there. He frowned darkly at her, although, either because of the lack of context, or the clear lack of effort, she only deepened her smirk. C'mon, had the girl been taking lessons from him? "All that smirking looks good on you. With a green headband you'd almost pass for a Slytherin." Bollocks. Did he just compliment her? "Well, were you not a mudblood, that is." Ha! Nice save, Draco.

Granger laughed. How infuriating of her. "It never gets old, does it? This mudblood, however, is late for a meeting with her lovely Gryffindor friends, and she was just reminded of her hidden desire for chocolate. I think I fancy myself a bit of Honeyduke's finest chocolate with hazelnut cream. Au revoir, ferret."

And with that she leaves. She just walks down the stairs – really, all but springs down the steps, not unlike a happy little bunny - , and leaves poor Draco alone with his thoughts – which now have gone to the dangerous zone of chocolate, lips, smirking and hazel eyes. What was he to do… except…

That day at dinner, focusing on the dull conversation being held among his closest friends (involving something about purebloods, and blood that is pure, and, well, people with pure blood) was not in his plans. His eyes kept wandering to the annoyingly chirpy table that gathered all the Gryffindors. Rolling his eyes at his now badly bruised puree (from his blatant abuse with the fork), he wondered what they were so happy about. They were always so damn ha-ppy. Screw them. Screw her.

Uhm… Granger. What was she up to? His gaze fell unceremoniously on her giggling figure, and he could hear her content laughs all the way from her table. How was that even possible? Damn witch. Oh, he'd get her. He'd get her good.

As he saw her take a bite of an attractive slice of meat, he subtly raised his wand and muttered under his breath. Sapochocoavela

He then rejoiced in hearing the surprised gasps and seeing, out of the corner of his eye, the stunned looks the precious red princess got from her nearby friends. All the meat in her plate had been turned into small chocolate frogs, with hazelnut filling. Better yet, they could only be eaten by her. Ha! I hope you get a painfully nasty stomach ache, Granger. As the female Weasel tried to eat one of them and failed miserably, he chuckled and then quickly paled and lost all breathing functions.

Granger – stupid, ugly, stupid little bookworm – was raising one of her eyebrows at him – he just knew it was directed at him… - and wearing the smirk she knew (damn her!) he liked. Raising her pumpkin juice glass, she mouthed the words thank you and ferret, or at least he could have sworn she did.

And, surprise, surprise, he raised his glass as well – winking and smirking, his insides twisting and turning, and hoping to Merlin she couldn't see the way his cheeks were threatening to succumb to a smile.

Damn her!

A/N: Ahah, just a cute little one-shot, to get my spirits up. I hope you all at least smiled a little bit… I know I did ^^

Leave a review, if you'd like. I'd love to hear your opinion!

Kisses***