Chapter One—Day of Shock

The prefects were in shock. They all sat at the table, staring at their head girl, who stared back at them with enthusiasm radiating out of her. They occasionally threw a glance at their head boy, who hadn’t (amazingly) said anything (yet), but instead was contemplating the idea with a lot more calm than they all were. The head girl looked at them all in turn with an expectant face. They stared some more, jaws dropping even lower when they realized she hadn’t just been pulling their leg. The silence was suddenly broken by a sneeze erupting from the other end of the table, where a new 5th year prefect was slowly turning red as all the faces turned to him, with a look that reprimanded him for having the nerve to sneeze in such a moment—to break the mounting tension and drama with such lack of finesse and charisma.

“You know, Granger,” a cool voice suddenly said from the opposite end again, and all faces turned once more toward the side where the heads were sitting. “You know, it’s so crazy it just might work.”

Another silence. The girls all turned to him in shock…had the head boy actually agreed with the head girl for once without as much as a snide comment or scoff?

The head girl seemed just as miffed as she spoke to him, “You’re agreeing with me, Malfoy?”

He shifted in his seat, leaning his elbow against the arm rest and putting his face in his palm, replying lazily, “Well yeah…McGonagall had said we needed to think of some way to raise the money if we wanted that Christmas Ball, and seeing as we have about 9 minutes to let her know what that idea is and as none of the other prefects had any other ideas then obviously I’m going to agree with you.”

“But…but…” one of the Ravenclaw boys stuttered, “…I mean…how…we would have to…sell…”

Draco Malfoy stood up, and all the girls’ eyes (excluding Hermione Granger’s) traveled up with his sparkling grey-blue eyes, before trailing down his well sculpted chest. He smirked as a soft sigh escaped one of the younger Slytherin girls, and then said, “Alright. I’m giving you all ten seconds to think of a plausible excuse for why this is a bad idea…”

He barely finished speaking when a roar of voices overcame him. 



“…Who has money to spend…?”


“…really stupid…”

“…potentially problematic…”

“…we’re not bloody house elves…”

“ENOUGH!” Malfoy yelled, and the room became quiet once again. “As glad as I am to hear you all whine about it, none of those were good enough so this meeting is dismissed until next time when we will discuss the details.”

More mumbling and grumbling filled the room, but nevertheless, the prefects started to walk out of the room.

“You know Hermione, I think it’s a good idea,” someone told her as he walked by.

“Thanks, Ron,” she replied, a small smile overcoming her as she understood he was only saying it to be equally-footed with Malfoy.

“And I think we could probably get Harry into it too…I’m sure he’d be a great help, what with him being the teen heartthrob he is—”

“As interesting as Potter-the-matyr-Voldemort-defeater-hearthrob is, Weasley, Granger and I have to report to McGonagall,” Draco spat, leaning against the door.

Hermione patted Ron on the shoulder she could just barely reached (that boy was too tall and lanky for his own good) and whispered something about talking to Harry about it later, before going to join Malfoy. Slowly they headed towards the office that used to belong to Dumbledore, and now the office of their Headmistress McGonagall. Walking along in silence, Hermione sideglanced at the boy beside her. From the outside, he didn’t seem to have changed much, but now that the war was over, he definetly wasn’t as arrogant anymore... though he did still have a certain air of you-should-be-kissing-the-ground-I’m-walking-on about him.

They passed Flitwick, who was cheerily putting up Christmas decorations in the hall and overtop the suits of armour. Draco couldn’t believe it was December already, when it felt like only a week ago they were getting back onto the Hogwarts Express—granted they did start late October. The board of governors had had no choice but to shut the school down because of the war, but Potter and his cronies and that Order of the Phoenix worked fast—they had defeated Voldemort during the two months of summer, September and a bit of October. He supposed it all happened faster than he expected because apparently they didn’t go around mindlessly trying the same thing over and over again as everybody suspected they would. Ergo, Voldemort and his clan wiped off the face of the planet within a season instead of a year, decade or two.  Except he wasn’t 100% sure how he felt about it all. On the one hand, it was relieving and good, and on the other, a trifle humiliating and degrading to have to yield to Potter. 

Now he was back at school, one of his (surprisedly) favourite places instead of under the looming figure of his father and promises of death and destruction. Though the treacherous dark mark still remained on his arm, it meant nothing to him, and most people around him knew that as well. Hell, he’d even bet Granger (he had stopped calling her Mudblood a while back) and her pet boys knew it just as well, though the four of them never failed to get into some kind of toss-up. It seemed that much was in their blood, an old habit that really does die hard.



“Snap out of your little daydream—we’re here,” she commanded, before stepping onto the moving spiraling staircase up to the headmistress’ office.

“I’d hardly consider thoughts of you daydreams,” he muttered, though somewhere deep down he couldn’t deny the fact that she wasn’t as ugly as he always thought she was. Or maybe he had always known she wasn’t ugly but made himself believe that so that he wouldn’t be falling for a girl he was supposed to hate and—

“You were thinking of me?” she asked, a tone of slight surprise evident in her voice, before she added sarcastically, “I’m touched, truly I am…”

“You should be,” he said before he could restrain himself, not wanting to start a petty quarrel when things had been going quite well the past few days. But as he thought about what he said, he wasn’t exactly sure what he meant…Metaphorically? Emotionally? Physically…?

But when Hermione replied, it wasn’t him she was talking to, “Good evening Professor McGonagall.”

“Good evening,” the professor replied curtly. “And?”

“We have come up with a brilliant idea, professor,” Draco put in before Hermione could answer. He received a glare from her, and smirked. She should have known he was going to take some of the credit for her work. Though, it wasn’t completely unworked for…he had defended and supported her idea, after all.

“Oh?” McGonagall asked with a raised eyebrow. “And that would be?”

The two head prefects exchanged a glance, before both replying, “A prefect auction.” 


A/N:  Hello!  So this is just the start of a random idea that came to me as I was just writing not really sure what I was writing.  Stick around to see how it unravels...
Thanks for reading, please review!

Track This Story:    Feed


Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.

Register Today!