If Hermione had even suspected that the day would turn out the way it had, she wouldn't have gotten out of bed to begin with. Which was a very strong sentiment coming from the Gryffindor, as she rarely lazed about when there were more important things - such as studying and researching and harassing Ron and Harry - to be taken care of.

But the day had been beyond strange from the start - and delving deeply into disturbing - and she had gotten out of bed. And, basically, there was no going back. The damage was already done.

Currently, Ernie Macmillan had her trapped against a painting of Erudad the Flatulent, and some unjust god had decided that Macmillan was to be the pining hero in this farce of a romance. Oh, she had it all figured out, all right. Nobody could ever accuse her of being slow.

"Hermione, my sweet, I long for your touch," he whispered huskily, leaning close, and she sucked in her breath, flattening herself against the indignant painting as she glared up at him. "Your soft amber eyes glow with the same desire," he went on in a gush, "and it warms my very soul."

Such trite nonsense! "I'm warning you, Macmillan..." she growled. Really, this had Ginny stamped all over it. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her love life - or lack of. She was perfectly happy as she was, and she didn't need some drooling Hufflepuff puppy following her around.

Whatever spell this was, she certainly hoped the younger girl hadn't played with Ernie's emotions� Although the thought of her fellow seventh-year actually having designs on her was not at all comforting. Macmillan was a bit too vacant-headed for her to ever take seriously.

"The timbre of your dulcet voice sends shivers down my spine, my love." His face was getting dangerously close to hers and she could smell the sickly sweet Apple Danish he'd apparently eaten at breakfast.

Feeling a little like she was going to throw up, she placed her palms on his chest and smiled disarmingly up at him. Then, when he relaxed his stance in response, she shoved hard and rushed past him, sprinting down the hall towards Arithmancy. Stupid wanker had already made her late.

She burst into the classroom, and after a breathy apology to the professor, she sank down into her chair and pulled out her book and parchment, her mind still reeling from the whole debacle of a morning. She knew the conversation she'd had with Ginny nearly a week ago about escapism in romance novels, and how there were only so many ways to plot one out, would come back to bite her in the arse. It had been wholly trivial and apparently only served to jar Ginny's creative juices.

They'd discussed at length the different sorts of heroines placed with the different sorts of heroes, and if Macmillan - the soppy, poetic, lovelorn hero - was Ginny's idea of Hermione's ideal man, the girl didn't know her half as well as she'd originally thought.

The back of her neck suddenly prickled and she straightened in her seat, knowing instinctively that someone was staring at her, and she mentally went over the classmates who usually sat in the seats behind her. Slytherins, mostly, with Terry Boot thrown in.

Then the thought of Slytherins automatically reminded her about villains, and how there was always someone evil that the hero had to rescue the heroine from, and dear Merlin, please don't let it be Malfoy. Ron would pitch a fit.

She curled her fingers tightly around her quill and forced herself to listen to the lecture. If Ginny did arrange for a villain, she'd find out soon enough. No use missing important NEWT information in the meantime.

By the time she packed up her supplies at the end of class, most of the Slytherins had already filed out, and although Pansy was sending her narrowed glowers, she really didn't think the girl was villain material. Hermione had it on good authority that she slept with a teddy.

Her eyes scanned the hall warily as she stepped out of the classroom, but even so, she never saw the hand that shot out and grabbed her arm, pulling her into a darkened alcove.

Blaise Zabini stared down at her with eyes that roiled with both confusion and passion. "I'm not at all sure why I'm doing this, Granger," he rasped, then promptly covered her mouth with his in an eager, rough kiss.

Hermione was, quite frankly, shocked. So Zabini was the villain? The mad, evil rascal that wanted her for his own nefarious purposes? Merlin, he kisses like a dream. Her eyes fluttered closed and she curled her fingers into his robe front, canting her head and parting her lips.

Wrenching back from her, he took a great gasp of air and growled, "What the fuck is going on? Damn, Granger." Panting, he pressed his forehead against hers, running his palms up and down her sides. "I feel�"

"Evil?" Hermione offered in a soft voice.

"Unhand her, you fiend!"

She cursed under her breath. Of course Macmillan had to show up. The foppish hero always - Wait a tic. The foppish hero? But� heroes weren't supposed to be foppish! The best friend was foppish. The deceptively innocent conniving neighbor was foppish. The cheating accountant weasel was foppish! Never the hero!

"Zabini," she started, ignoring the huffing Hufflepuff, "yesterday, what sorts of feelings did you have for me?"

He gave her a heated look that quickly clouded over, and he shook his head like a dog drying its fur. "Beyond thinking you were overly annoying and often shrill?"

She winced. "Yes."

"Oh, what has he done to you, my love?" Macmillan wailed, pulling vainly at the back of Zabini's robes.

"Stuff it, Ernie," she snapped. Macmillan obviously wasn't as strong-willed as Zabini, succumbing to whatever bewitchment Ginny had performed with little resistance, if any at all.

"You honestly want to know?" Zabini's hands had started to wander, his thumb rubbing the underside of a breast.

"Yes," she insisted. How in the hell had Ginny chosen these two to play out this little fantasy?

"You have an alluring brain," he purred, leaning down to capture and nibble on an earlobe. "And a fascinating view on elf liberation."

Hermione snorted, but couldn't help tilting her head to allow him better access. "Thinking of joining SPEW, are you?" she murmured, only vaguely aware of Macmillan making various noises of protestation behind them.

"No, but you do have such�passion about it." His fingers wormed their way into the part of her robes, inching the white oxford out of her waistband. "Your left eye twitches when you get angry, and your lips get all thin and schoolmarm-ish."

"Schoolmarm-ish?" She wouldn't have thought that was a compliment, except it was said in such a seductive growl that she thought perhaps� well� "You don't have any sorts of disciplinarian fantasies, do you Zabini?"

He chuckled low in his chest, nuzzling the hollow of her neck. "Perhaps."

Hermione bit her lip to suppress a moan, then recalled Ginny and the stupid spell, and realized that Zabini was probably half out of his mind, and didn't know what the hell he was saying. "I'm going to kill Ginny," she gasped.

By this time, Ernie was drawing a small crowd by crying "Help!" and "My love is doomed!" up and down the hallway.

"Oh, shove off, Ernie." Ginny stepped into view, grinning wickedly at her. "Having fun?"

Her eyes were half-lidded, as Zabini was doing something delicious to her collarbone, and her glare was half-arsed. "You. Are. Dead," she managed.

Ginny rolled her eyes and held up her wand. "Finite Incantatem."

Ernie immediately froze in the hallway, eyes wide as he took in the scene. "Argh!" he shouted, then buried his face in his hands.

Zabini seemed content to finger the buttons of her shirt, hot mouth trailing along her jaw line.

"Er� Zabini?"

When Zabini only gave her a muffled grunt, Ginny shot her a smug look, then patted Macmillan's back sympathetically and steered him off towards the Hufflepuff commons, shooing away the other classmates who'd started to cluster around them.

"Zabini�"

With an exasperated oath, he pulled back, looking down at her with intense blue eyes. "What, Granger?"

There was a certain clarity in the light irises that hadn't been there before, and Hermione swallowed thickly. Ginny had ended the spell, but apparently Zabini really was intent on ravishing her in a hallway nook. "Nothing," she almost squeaked. "Carry on."

"Right, then," he said, lips curled up in a self-satisfied smile. He gave her a soft, lingering kiss, then whispered against her mouth, "Let's discuss how willing you are to brandish a paddle, hmm?"