Flexible and caring. Sweet and innocent, but not naive. Gentle but strong; more than willing to stand up for herself and her beliefs. Not fooled easily. Hermione went over Charlotte’s character summary for the billionth time in her head. She was pacing the Great Hall, her feet making a soft tapping noise as she concentrated.

The doors swung open as Draco Malfoy swept into the room, his blonde hair slicked back but wet; a broomstick was swung over his shoulder. He pulled off his over jacket and laid his belongings on the table. “Hi.”

“Hi. You’re late,” snapped Hermione briskly.

“Sorry,” he replied blandly, not sounding at all as if he was. “Practice ran over.”

“Boys and their Quidditch.” She rolled her eyes then threw her script aside. “Let’s run lines.”

“You know the lines. Let’s run the movements.”

“What are the movements without the words?”

“You should be able to portray your character not only through that you’re saying, but also your actions. They need to feel what you feel.”

Hermione stared at him perplexed, wondering hoe he knew so much and where he learned it. She sighed and shook her head, knowing it was pointless to argue: they were both stubborn but he always found a way to win.

And so it went: act one was slowly worked through and the middle of the play approached. Hermione almost felt as if she were in a musical without any words… maybe a mime. However, as they gradually began to reach the part of the play where Charlie’s father told them that they couldn’t be together anymore, an overwhelming sense of emotion came over her. She felt as if she was Charlotte, and she was in a forbidden love.

After about half an hour of staring at each other and working through the motions, Draco stopped and clapped. “Good. You’re getting there.”

“You’re not doing so bad yourself.”

“I know.”

She was surprised to find herself laughing a little. “How can you be so arrogant yet so down to earth? You don’t make any sense.”

“Who does?”

“Why do you even caring about passing McGonagall’s class, Draco?”

“I’ve always cared… just more now than ever.”

“Ah. Well, she’s not that tough.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“What do you mean?” she raised her eyebrows. This wasn’t what she’d expected.

“Nothing ever goes wrong for you. My father is constantly comparing me to you. You don’t even know what’s that like. I'm supposed to be the best.”

“But you are!” she cried, a bit shocked at the sudden heartrending expression that had fallen over his face. “You’re great at many things! Quidditch, Potions… and you’re a great actor.”

“My father doesn’t think acting is a suitable way to pass a class. He’s only barely tolerating this play.”

An awkward silence fell over the two as they both realized that they were actually talking. But they were more than talking… they were discussing their personal lives. Draco abruptly stood up, sneering. “I’ve always been better than you though. See you tomorrow, Mudblood.”

….

“Very nice job, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall smiled firmly. She placed a small novel of parchment papers on her desk then moved on.

“What’d you get?” whispered Ron, leaning over his desk to the point of falling.

“An E, I bet,” smirked Harry. “Ever seen her get anything lower?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and tucked the work into her book bag.

“Aww, come on, ‘Mione! Let us see.”

“Shh,” she hissed as Professor McGonagall returned to the front of the classroom.

“There is no homework tonight, due to a very important dress rehearsal… I expect to see you all at the play, starring our very own Hermione Granger.”

As the class turned and began to applaud accordingly, Hermione sunk lower into her chair, her face turning slightly red. She jumped out of her seat and was out of the door quickly, Ron and Harry trailing in her wake.

She felt a hasty tug on her bag and she turned around to find Harry and Ron gaping down at her graded assignment, their mouths wide open. “You got an Outstanding?”

“I guess,” she replied, snatching it back from them and shoving it into the very bottom of her bag. “What’d you two get?”

“I got an A…” Harry said, slightly proud. “I think it’s pretty good, saying that I spent all but five minutes on it. What’d you get, Ron? Ron?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he passed his paper over to Harry and sped off.

“What is it?”

“He got a Poor…”

Hermione watched his back sadly as Ron pushed his way through the crowd.

“Maybe you should tutor him, Hermione…”

“Tutor him? I’d just end up doing all of the work.”

“No, you wouldn’t. He needs the help.”

“I don’t have time, Harry.”

“You don’t have time for your friends? What about after the play?”

“I… I guess. I’ll talk to him about it later.”

“Excellent,” he grinned, and separated paths with her as she turned into Arithmancy.

….

“Bad actors have bad habits,” Colin Creevey nodded smartly to Malfoy at dress rehearsal.

“What are you talking about?” he questioned, his eyebrows furrowed in a mix of anger and the incapability to understand.

“Like bad tempers!” he cried before scurrying away.

Draco stormed over to Hermione and she smiled slightly as he roared, “What was he talking about?”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” she lied obviously, moving one of the props to the opposite side of the stage. When she came back, he was still seething. “Oh, get a grip.”

He gazed at her, stunned. “What’d you just say?”

“You seem deaf today. I said to get a grip.”

“You know, Hermione, I think I might just be rubbing off on you. Stay this way and I might continue to use your first name.” He walked away, only looking back to grin at her slyly.