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A Bet To Regret: Chapter Eight, Don't Be Stupid

"Miss Granger, how did you happen upon this note?"

"I found it in the common room, Professor Flitwick. Can you tell whose it is?"

"Why, it... no, no, it wouldn't be, would it."

"Sorry, sir?"

"Well, I was just-it's preposterous, I suppose, but it does look an awful lot like Mr. Malfoy's handwriting. I would perform a tracing charm, but, of course, that would be inappropriate in light of the fact that this is, after all, a student's possession."

"I see. Thank you, professor. I'll return it to him, then."

"Oh, I would advise against that, Miss Granger-house rivalry runs high this time of year."

"I'm sure he'll be civil. Thanks again, professor."

"Good day, Miss Granger!"

Hermione held her forged note tightly in her hand as she exited the Charms room, secretly pleased that her forgery had been so accurate but, at the same time, furious at her discovery.

Malfoy. It was Malfoy.

Sure, it was infinitely preferable to breaking some first year's heart, but all the same. It was so insulting! Instead of attacking her verbally or hexing her, or something, as he would have to Harry or Ron, he had played with her emotions-or tried to. Just because she was a girl!
The more Hermione thought about it the angrier she became and by the time she stormed into the Great Hall she had herself convinced that she was acting as the champion of modern feminism. Only when she approached the Slytherin table did some of her inner fire die out.

She came to a stop behind Draco Malfoy and his two best mates, seated on either side of him, turned around before he did. Crabbe and Goyle were quick to draw their wands, but Mafoy called them off.
"C'mon, wands down, she's just visiting." They lowered their wands obediently but continued to glare at her as Draco slid around to face her on the bench. "What it is you want so desperately to say to me, Granger?"

"I know."

"Know what?" The unconvincing surprise in his tone confirmed everything.

"I know you've been sending me-flowers, and things."

"I di-" He began to protest but she cut him off sharply.

"You will cut that out this instant, Draco Malfoy, or Merlin help me I will-"

"Wait!" Now it was his turn to interrupt. Malfoy stood, raising his hands in surrender

before her, eyes darting quickly to a smirking Blaise Zabini seated some ways down the table. "Please, Granger, let me explain. I can explain."

"Go on, then. Explain yourself." Hermione was still fuming as she posited the crumpled forgery into her pocket and felt around for a grip on her wand.

"I had to send them without a name. It wasn't a hoax, I just-would you have read them if you knew it was me?"

"No," she answered honestly.

"That's just it, Granger, I-I like you."

"You hate me," she corrected flatly. "Don't be stupid."

The end of the hall, occupied by students in their year, grew quiet compared to others as the other houses strained to hear what was going on at the Slytherin table.

"I'm not stupid-well, compared to you, maybe, but-what I mean is, I like you. Love you, even! I do, I bloody do. I am telling you, honest to Salazaar. I am fascinated by you, Hermione, and I want you to give me a chance to make up for all the rubbish I've pulled."

Still clutching her wand, Hermione spat out, "Fine."

"When-?" Malfoy began to ask.

"Hogsmeade, this weekend. Come alone."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Farther along the table, Blaise Zabini's face fell into his hands. Bet lost. All of that pain for nothing. The rejection was rendered meaningless now, and yet still it stung.

After a few minutes of brooding blindly to himself, he heard an airy voice coming from behind him.

"Blaise, are you still interested in taking me out on a date? It's Hogsmeade weekend and Neville's got homework, so I haven't anyone to go with. You could take me, if you want, it seems harmless."

"Yes. Yes, Luna, I'd love to."

-x-

Author's Note: I'm sorry I was so long plagued with writer's block, along with the usual "real life" commitments. Thank you so much for reading and for the support shown in the reviews. Take care.