Author's note: I stole the name "The Grinning Spoons" from JanieB, but only because I love her.
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Chapter 3 "Bars and Stars"
Those first few weeks at Hogwarts held little of the excitement expected. Most of my time was spent filing Graves' vast correspondence and cross checking his lesson plans. But the work went by quickly. Malfoy and I worked silently side by side, with only an occasional "pass me an envelope" or "hand me that quill" to break the silence.
By the third week we'd finished the bulk of our clerical duties, so our office hours only kept us for an hour or two a day. I spent the rest of my time in the library while Draco did Quidditch maneuvers on the grounds.
Sensing his student's boredom, Graves stopped by one afternoon and gave us a list of spells, saying something about their needing 'a dry run.' He laughed as Draco and I stared at each other with evil grins and raced outdoors. Malfoy cracked his knuckles and I cocked my eyebrows as we squared off on the grounds. Oh, yes, this would get interesting…
For some reason I found it strangely cathartic leveling curses at Drake.
'Strangely'? Right. More like 'bloody brilliant,' to quote a certain redhead.
I'd like to say that I kept my distance from Drake. That I was cold and forbidding and in no-way friendly.
But then of course I'd be lying. We became friends. I, Hermione "Mudblood" Granger and Draco "Death-to-All-Muggles" Malfoy were fast friends. Coworkers, peers, fellows...
Truth was, I felt better when I was with him. Harry's bitter voice stopped ringing in my ears and, horrible death-eater legacy not-withstanding, Malfoy was a pretty decent dueling partner, who even had a healthy sense of humor once you got past that destroy-all-mudbloods air about him.
Maybe we were both looking for allies for the upcoming year. He had his new loyalties to the Order, and I had that ridiculous curse to worry about, so I suppose we just needed each other to balance out the changes in our lives.
And, okay, maybe we still had to iron out some problems. Weeks into our training and we were still too eager in our attacks, and, I must say, Drake's little celebratory chicken-dance jig was getting old fast. His congratulatory two-steps usually lasted longer than the duels, but somehow I like to think he was only doing it to cheer me up after my (rare) losses.
Yeah right.
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"Gods he's good…" Hermione muttered, as she got to her feet after being knocked flat by a stunning Atter spell.
She looked back towards her flaying counterpart. Whether his body was twitching like that from exhaustion or from a non existent sense of rhythm, she couldn't say. "Yeah, he's good." She shook her head and stared at him. "Not so much with dancing though."
Hermione knew she had a good ten seconds before he'd be finished with celebratory jig #59, so she slowly summoned an Ambergris counter-curse of her own, getting a warm, fuzzy feeling as he dove face-first out of the way.
"What are you smiling at Granger?" Draco said as he got to his feet, shaking the dust off his robe.
She gave slow shrug "….your pitiful attempt at an Atter spell?"
"Pitiful?" He asked, scandalized. "I'll have you know that spell was perfect."
"Perfect?" She laughed, "Is that why it fizzled halfway before it landed?" She shook her head. "If you'd learn a little patience, your spells would last longer."
"Patience?" He grinned. "Coming from the girl who used three Avavior curses in a row?
Oh, right. "Well," she kicked at the ground a bit, "that was more of a plan B."
He cocked his eyebrows and looked at her questioningly.
"Myselnspelscroked," she said sheepishly.
"What?" He asked with a sly smile.
"My. Selnor. Spells. Have. Gone. Crooked. Again." There, are you happy, git? Gods he could make her mad. She didn't act that smug when he couldn't muster a Sonorus spell. Well, she thought, at least not to his face.
He didn't answer. He just stared at her, all gloating and smirking-like.
"Stop. Smiling," she said through gritted teeth.
"I'm not smiling," he said with an impossibly wider grin.
She held up her wand and motioned towards him. "Stop. It," she spat, struggling to keep from laughing herself. Her get-intimidated face really needed work.
He winked at her. "You know what you need love?"
She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. Gods, is that all he thinks about?
"No, not that Granger," he answered, rolling his eyes. "Well," he added, "besides that…you need to get out. Go crazy. Go to Hogsmeade. Have some fun…"
"…watching the World Cup?" She finished for him, unimpressed.
Draco nodded eagerly, and she gave a put-upon sigh.
"Fine, great…wonderful…Football. Oh boy am I stoked," she said half-heartedly, repeating a phrase she'd heard an annoying Muggle commentator use. She regretted ever introducing Draco to the darned sport. He was now a borderline fanatic, and often dragged her to the Debauched Monk to watch games on the only television in the county.
Although, she'd later admit there was something terribly nice and, almost, cozy about the whole thing. Well, cozy, that is, until Draco started in on the drinking games. Then things usually devolved into a sad college comedy.
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(Later, at Hogsmeade)
"Come on Hermes," Draco prompted. Gods she hated when he called her that. "Just have a widdle drinkie." He waved the glass under Hermione's nose by way of invitation. He let out a hey-I'm-not-drunk-even-though-I-sound-like-a-hyena laugh, and, in her eternal Gryffindor stupidity, she snatched the shot from his hand.
As per usual, the one drink soon turned into two, and after a truly stupid drinking game involving I-spy and some sort of bet about the house band, The Grinning Spoons, they were slacking drunk.
Hermione'd never admit it, but when they went out like this, she didn't feel the self-doubt and borderline depression that'd plagued her all summer. Maybe because she couldn't feel anything. Especially her legs. Gods that stuff was strong.
"You, Drake…" she pointed at him, forgetting that a shot was still in her hand. The firewhiskey went all over the table and, of course that was the most hysterical thing they'd ever seen. Draco fell over laughing, and Hermione's hands were shaking too hard to pour another.
"Drake, you're the best," she said whole-heartedly as she finally managed to get some of the yummy liquid into the glass. "This is the best place. I love this place."
"I love this place," he agreed. "I love you sweets," he added with a stupid grin.
"I love you too." she said, looking equally stupid.
"You're like the homely sister I never wanted to shag."
"Hey! …wait, as opposed to the lovely sister you're desperate to shag?" she asked, honestly puzzled. Wow. Talking would be easier without the room spinning. Stupid room.
"Noooo." He slurred. "Just… never will want to shag you…"
"Oh…" Hermione whined with an exaggerated moan. Denial aside, that was just so…mean. "Never? Never
ever?"
"Nope," he grinned. "Never."
"What if…." Gryffindor girl power and whatnot, she couldn't let him have the last word. "What if I were twins?" she answered brightly.
Draco was about to object, when he paused and gave a rakish grin. "Okay, yeah." He nodded. "Then I'd consider it."
"Well, don't do twin-me any favors," she said haughtily, taking another sip.
"Okay, fine. I would definitely shag you if you were twins."
"Soooo, it's not quite never-ever," she said smugly.
"Yeah…not quite. But…" he leaned forward and added, "you know if I did, Harry'd kill me."
"Harry would never kill you Drake," she said solemnly. He narrowed his eyes and gravely nodded. They took a moment to appreciate the endless goodness and saintliness that was Harry James Potter.
Of course that didn't last long and they burst out laughing.
"Harry doesn't need an excuse to kill me." Draco said darkly, after regaining control over himself and pouring another glass. "His being bored's reason enough."
"Maybe if you turned into twins and shagged him he'd rethink it." Mmmmmm. Twin Drakes. Twin Harrys. Wow, she was drunk.
Sometime later, he'd won another round of I-spy and the Grinning Spoons were starting to pack it in.
"We need a name," he said suddenly.
"A name?" Hermione asked, lifting her suddenly heavy head off the table.
"A team name. Team 'Something.' Team Us. We need one."
Hmmmm. Team name. "It would create a sense of unity," she said matter-of-factly. Why did that sound familiar?
"Team name…yes. Team name, how about…The Grinning Spoons?" Draco answered brightly.
"No, that's the band's name," she shook her head and pointed at the stage.
He looked over, as if noticing them for the first time. "Oh," he said with a tinge of regret. "'is a good name."
"Yes, but it's taken. We don't want to confuse people now do we? How about…?" She was really racking what she could of her brains. "How about…Team Rocket."
"Team Rocket?" He blinked at her, puzzled.
"Yeah. Team Rocket."
"Wha's that?" He asked.
"It's Pok-e-mon." She said carefully. That sure was a hard word after six shots of firewhiskey. She smiled at her ability to pronounce it and took another shot to celebrate.
"Wha's that?" Drake asked, furrowing his brow.
Of course Hermione had read all about the sinister form of Muggle mind control known as Pokemon. Developed by a wizard looking to sell his horrible video games, it involved an ensnaring charm and a clever campaign of market saturation to accomplish his nefarious commercial ends. The Ministry had spent millions in trying to contain the craze and land its creator in Azkaban.
"It's a game Muggles play," Hermione explained. "They capture cuddly little animals and force them to fight to the death."
Drake brightened at that. "Yeah, I like that. Let's do that…I'll go find some kittens," he began to get out of his chair, but found slouching back into the booth to be easier.
"Noooo." She shook her head. "It's a met-a-phor. It's symbolic. Of us. How we're pawns to the greater good, and how we're supposed to be cuddly animals and live in peace with rainbow waterfalls and gumdrop houses…" she trailed off, motioning around the room with her half-empty shot, trying to find proof of their potential passiveness.
"I'm not cuddly," he shook his head firmly.
"Well, neither am I, " she answered.
"And I'm not a pa-wn," he added, slurring the last word.
"What's 'alpown'?" She asked confused.
"A pa-wn…" he repeated
"Alpawn?" "A pawn…" "Alpawn?" They began chanting back and forth, trying to figure out what the other was saying.
"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger…" They turned to find Professor Gravel standing over their table. "What are you doing?"
"We're being pa-wns," Drake smiled absently and suddenly collapsed in the booth.
"What's alpa-wns?" Graves asked as he grunted and lifted the now-passed out Draco from his chair.
She would have answered him if that darned floor hadn't stopped her. Stupid floor, she thought as she drifted off. Sleep good…
She woke up the next morning, sounding and looking like Moaning Murtle. Of course, she wasn't the only one. Draco came in to Grave's office with red eyes and spiky hair, saluting her before collapsing into his chair.
They went to work, or tried to at least. Every now and Drake would whisper, "pa-wn, pass me the envelope…" or "pass the quill, pa-wn," causing Hermione to laugh and then rub her head from the pain. Stupid running joke…Stupid floor. She gingerly felt her bruise from the fall, swearing to never drink again. Unless, of course, Drake went with her, and then only in moderation.
Stupid floor.