Draco's Delicate Condition

Chapter 3 - About Face

Two days passed following the Potions exam fiasco and Draco still entering the Great Hall, which meant he "survived" on the snack foods his mother routinely sent to him by owl post. He missed the camaraderie of his fellow Slytherin, but where ever he went he could feel the eyes of his fellow Slytherin at his back - watching him. Slytherin could pick up the scent of weakness in their classmates the way wolves in the Arctic can sense the limp in an ailing alpha wolf, detecting the chance to move up in rank.

Despite his bravado in the Great Hall, Draco, too downhearted to notice the signs in himself, had begun to lapse in indisputable signs of weakness. True, he was as obnoxious, self-centred and insulting as usual, but there were other more telling signs of depressed bravado; when faced with his Slytherin equals he tended now to drop eye contact, but worse, he avoided eye contact with his inferiors. Things grew so bad that when Vincent Crabbe to snog a treacle tart from Draco's plate Draco ignored the transgression. And when a Slytherin boy "accidentally" knocked over Draco's pumpkin juice, the boy - of lower rank - did not apologized and again, Draco did not bother to put the other boy back in his place. However, the most astounding transgression occurred when they reached the Slytherin commons entrance when it at the same time Draco's girlfriend Messalina pushed roughly past him. Those who saw the incident froze - ready for the wrath that did not materialize. Yes, the wolves gathered at Draco's heels. If all Draco's behaviour did not rally, it was only a matter of time before he would be pulled down.

Most Slytherin assumed, and with good reason, that Draco's demeanour was temporarily deflated as he was waiting for the outcome of his Potions class disgrace. That was partly true as Draco had no idea if at any minute he would be hauled in front of headmaster Albus Dumbledore for a dressing down or worse, his angry father might show up to drag him home to Malfoy Manor in disgrace. At the very least Draco expected a failing grade for the term from Professor Snape. All the above was reason enough for Draco plummet from Slytherin grace. All of the above were reason enough for Draco's lack-lustre behaviour, but truth is, no one at Hogwarts, not even the most savvy of Slytherin had a clue as to the true source of Draco's lagging fibre; the lad was a' pining for a witch.

No, even assuming there might be one or two older Slytherin with enough rank and savvy under their belt to guess Draco's troubles revolved around a skirt, they'd never, ever be capable of guessing which bit of fluff had knocked Draco for a loop. Yes, there were plenty of attractive, in some cases, extremely attractive Slytherin witches. There were of course, many attractive Ravenclaw witches come to that. There was even precedence that allowed for Draco to pine after a Slytherin wizard if his inclinations swung in that direction. However, pining for any student of Gryffindor or the looked-down-upon Hufflepuff were smack out of the equation. Among the Slytherin elite some things just were not done.

At the top of the "not to be done no matter what the circumstances" list was falling head over heels for a Muggle-born Gryffindor. It was common knowledge that Draco Malfoy, like his parents, detested magical folk born of Muggles. In Slytherin there was not a witch or wizard who had not at one time or another heard Draco venomously decree the very worse Muggle-born at Hogwarts was, and here his own words shall be quoted; 'Granger - that sodding, bushy-headed, grades-curve tossing, Potter and Weasley loving, Gryffindor Mudblood witch.' On a good day, Draco would say so twice before afternoon tea.

So it was two days after the Potions fiasco by the fireplace in the cavernous Slytherin Commons, Draco sat alone. The other Slytherin were dining in the Great Hall but Draco had no appetite and could not keep his mind on his Magical History homework text that was spread on his lap.

A sonorous voice said 'Mr Malfoy.' Snape stood before Draco.

Draco's head snapped up. He couldn't decipher if Snape had come round to torment him or perhaps to show some sympathetic paternal feeling, but then, Draco didn't care either way.

'Evening, Snape.'

Although manners in the Slytherin commons were not the same as in the Potions classroom, Snape was taken aback. A more normal commons greeting from Draco would have been, 'Bite me, Sir.' Draco was obviously down in spirits. Snape took a chair opposite Draco's.

'Mr Malfoy. You know how I despise involving myself in the affairs of students. The patience the other house teachers show towards their charges makes me ill. As far as I'm concerned, for all I care, you little reprobates can chop each other up for breakfast meat.'

Draco didn't even bother to look up as Snape continued to speak.

'Only imagine my horror when - so help me - this afternoon the Headmaster asked me, 'Severus, what is ailing Mr Malfoy?' An unprecedented inquiry I assure you.' Snape waited for Malfoy to respond, but answer came there none. 'So - what is wrong with you?'

Draco sighed and finally looked up. 'No disrespect intended, Sir - go shag yourself.'

Snape was now quite worried although he didn't let on. Draco's response really wasn't up to his usual piss and vinegar. Normally Draco would have responded by recommending Snape participate in some bestial act involving Snape seeking personal fulfilment through use of small scaly animals or stationary objects. The boy's mood was all practically suicidal.

'Mr Malfoy. Have you nothing constructive or informative to tell me about your current - disposition?'

Draco took a deep breath. Might as well ask what questions that if asked might do the job and get Snape the fuck off of his back. 'So Snape is the paper work that will have me expelled coming along all right? Are my parents notified of the dishonour and pending expulsion of their only son and heir?' Draco sounded resigned to his fate.

'You cheated on an exam, for which I subtracted an unheard of 100 points from Slytherin house, and everyone in the school, from the Headmaster to the caretaker's cat, knows of it. I should imagine that would be punishment enough. Yes... 100 points... I can hardly wrap my mind around that many points being deducted - from my own house. That was supposed to be your punishment; feels more like mine.'

'I'm not being expelled?'

'Why should you be off that easy? You will remain at here and take responsibility for your actions like a mature wizard - like a man.'

A look of profound relief flooded Draco's face - momentarily, and then the look of ennui flooded back with equal speed.

'Mr Malfoy, you will set your grades back to rights as soon as possible. You possess more brains than you rightly know what to do with, so that should not present you with any problem. I see no reason for the consequences of your unhappy decision to cheat in my classroom to go any farther.'

If Snape was waiting for Draco to thank him for his kindness and consideration, he had a long wait to look forward to. Snape looked slightly uncomfortable but he said what he came to say.

'As your House professor, I feel obliged enough to your family to provide you with council on matters I normally prefer to avoid. Malfoy, you are slipping up on more than just your schoolwork of late. I have noted you do not seem to care about - anything. You're standing within Slytherin house is... slipping.'

Draco gave Snape a look that clearly denoted that if the professor continued speaking along such lines of discourse, Draco might have to throw up, if only for an excuse to end the stream of unsolicited advice.

'There is nothing more important to a Slytherin than his standing among his fellow Slytherin. You know that better than anyone. So what is the problem?'

Saying nothing, Draco continued to glare sullenly at Snape.

'Fine,' Snape growled. 'Be stubborn. Go down in flames.'

Snape shot up out of the chair angrily and was about to march off but after one step, he halted and turned to stare at his pupil. Draco could almost hear the wheels grinding in Snape's mind as the Professor forced himself to finish what he had started. Snape gritted his teeth for a bit and then said, 'I don't know what it is you do to keep yourself "in check", "balanced", but whatever it is Mr Malfoy, you have lost it. You had better pull yourself together as soon as possible and have yourself under control, because as you go down Mr Malfoy, so shall your family. I don't believe you want your father to face you with that piece of information, do you?'

Snape knew that his words were not the exactly what Dumbledore had in mind by a long shot, but Snape was a Slytherin. What was more important to a Slytherin than power and standing?

Draco remained passive. The first wave of Slytherin students were entering the commons, their evening meal in the Great Hall completed.

'Remember Mr Malfoy.' Snape cast his gaze around the room. 'They can smell weakness.' Snape turned and left the commons.

Draco sank into his chair and the text slipped from his lap. Snape had a point; he was slipping and no question, it had to stop. At least his fears about expulsion were ended. Things were looking up - he wasn't to be sent home to his father - his father's extensive skinning knife collection would go unused for at least another year.

Before long most students were back milling around Slytherin commons, making a start at their homework, a few playing the Wizard's Chess, the Slytherin version. Across the room a large group of students watched the game between a young witch Tracy Davis who was down to her chemise, socks and trainers. She played against Crabbe who sat glumly at the other side of the chessboard, down to his shorts and one sock. Those with weak stomachs had abandoned watching the match about the time Crabbe lost his vest.

All thoughts of expulsion gone, Draco's mind returned to his most overriding problem - what to do, or not do, about his feelings for the Granger witch.

What's wrong with approaching her like any other witch? Cornering her in the hall and touching her in naughty places. Then if she doesn't slap me - much - we're off and running.

The Malfoy Method of attracting a witch's attention was unpolished, and obviously trifling, but it worked well enough, and more importantly, often enough. Draco was in practice, after all, he hadn't let that he was seeing Messalina stop him from the occasional tryst in the hallway with other obliging adorable witches. Still somehow, it seemed to Draco that things concerning Granger were inexplicably different.

I know Granger won't allow herself to be felt up in the hallway or that sort of thing. What am I supposed to do? Carry her books or some such nonsense? Wasn't any trouble at all getting together with Messalina, I just backed up her into a broom closet and until Mrs Norris showed up we got on well enough..

As if on cue, Draco's girl, Messalina rose from her homework and sauntered over. Messalina, like Hermione, had head thick with lovely chestnut hair. Draco appraised Messalina's hair, which hung obediently in soft swirls, not at all bushy like Granger's hair. Messalina often wore her thick hair down her back in a long plait. Draco admired how high Messalina's cheekbones were and the grace of her swanlike neck. And in evening casual clothing without school robes, it was obvious that Messalina had a figure that easily rivalled that of Hermione - she even had a trace more tit. Draco stared Messalina up one side and down the other. He reckoned although Granger's face was, passing pretty, Messalina's was spot-on attractive, far prettier that Granger's. In fact, Draco concluded, Messalina was more than pretty - the sultry witch was beautiful. There were seventh year wizards who envied Draco that he had the opportunity to feel Messalina up. Yes, even the noted Slytherin beauty Blaise, was outshined by the beauty Messalina who was, as genes have it, Blaise's younger sister.

Draco felt as if he was dating his way through the grand old Zabini Wizard family that dated back nearly as many centuries as the Malfoy family. Messalina was even a fair to middling Quidditch player when he invited her out to the pitch. Messalina was also an excellent student. But best of all, for Messalina snogging and other sensual pleasures were a fine art form.

Using the above reasoning, Draco therefore decided he would drop any thoughts on Granger Muggleborn out of his head. After all, what could the Granger possibly have over the lovely witch who stood looking down at him with those sooty lashed, steel-blue eyes?

'Drakie-Ducks,' drawled Messalina. She stood, hands on her hips, chewing a wad of Droobles Ever Blowing Gum. She blew a large blue pearlescent bubble that floated off. She continued chewing noisily, reminiscent of a yearling cow chewing its cud.

'Yes, my proud, magnificent bitch?' drawled Draco. He was fond of that line, having memorized it from a trashy novel he'd borrowed from one of the seventh year wizards.

'You will take me to Hogsmeade on Saturday? If you don't, I may decide to go with someone who has the time for me. You had better let me know by breakfast.' Had Messalina stopped there, she'd have been in trouble enough, but she added, '...or else.'

At the witch's unfortunate use of "or else", Draco to shot to his feet, aggressively moving toward Messalina who held her ground, uncertainly. Draco stood chest to tit with the girl, whose eyes were wide. Pushing against her, Draco quickly had her pinned her to the wall by the fireplace.

Messalina fumed. She swung a hand directed at Draco's face but with the speed of a vampire he easily ducked the slap. He leaned against her maliciously willing hoping for the payoff. Draco's eyes were narrow slits, dark as coal in the murky green light of the Slytherin Commons. He received his reward, Messalina looked frightened. Now at ease, Draco spoke slowly, coldly.

'Listen Messie, I don't know what gave you the idea that I'm not taking you to Hogsmeade, or that I intend to take any crap from you, but let me make this simple for you. If you ever speak to me like that again, 'he whispered into Messalina's shell-like ear. '...Bad things will happen to you.' He kissed her ear. Then he swiftly sucked her ear into his mouth and grasped it in his teeth. Idly he slowly applied the faintest of pressure, only barely enough to leave a mark. Messalina squealed.

Draco was now enjoying himself immensely. He pushed himself hard up against Messalina.

I'm such a rat, but I can't help it - I do this sort of thing so bloody well.

Draco released her ear and whispered additional threats, spelling out explicit and boy-thrilling punishments. Draco really knew how to shovel out verbal abuse, having learned to do so at his father's knee. Messalina looked like a small bird facing a rather large and hungry cat.

The entire commons room had become quiet as students craned their ears in hopes to hear what dastardly things Draco might be saying to his girl. The easily stimulated grabbed their partners and darted off behind the curtains for a snog.

When Draco finished upbraiding of his girl he did not back away but continued to face her - nose to nose. Messalina trembled ever so slightly although it was unclear if she trembled from fear or anger. Draco had been most rude and disrespectful and if was rare for a Zabini to tolerate such rudeness and disrespect - to accept being publicly ravaged by a crude act power, by a crude, sexist wizard.

What was a Slytherin princess to do? Messalina threw her arms around Draco's neck and reminded him, in energetic lip play and generalized writhing, why she and Draco were Slytherin's most popular couple in the first place.

Their classmates shouted, 'Way to go Malfoy!', and 'Atta girl Messalina!' and slapped each other's backs, or else went back to business as usual - a thoroughly sick and twisted lot, the Slytherin.

Draco and Messalina's snog-fest by the fireplace went on for nearly forty-five minutes. An all time Slytherin record, for when there wasn't a party in progress. Finally, Draco, literally giddy from not taking enough time to draw breath, dropped his mouthful of Messalina and without a word to the girl, went straight to his dorm room. Messalina remained against the wall for another five minutes, a dreamy look on her lovely and sated face. She seemed not to care one wit that her blouse hung largely unbuttoned and that her skirt... but, no real need to go there.

Only in Slytherin house would invectives of Draco's calibre of crudeness and rudeness be greeted so; with an intermingled mix of total hatred and total respect. For weeks afterwards Messalina told scathing tales of her comeuppance from Draco as if she'd received an award of some sort. She was the envy of every young Slytherin witch and the new goal of many an overly ambitious Slytherin

wizard.

Still, Draco's drool had not quite dried on Messalina's blouse when Draco retired to his dorm room, retreating behind the heavy emerald curtains of his four-poster. He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head. His face was not red. His body did not tingle. True, the tingling was present earlier; the feelings disappeared a few minutes into the snogging session. Draco wondered how he could feel so thoroughly unmoved by a witch as enticing as Messalina. The intense snog he had only just retreated from left him feeling abysmally empty. No feelings of love darted about his heart; no tinglings of lust tweaked his loins. To Draco's utter astonishment he did not even wish to touch himself in interesting places. Honestly - there was no precedence for such a thing - or rather a lack thereof. Draco was so randy that most ideas of a sexual nature sounded feasible to him. Draco was so innately bold in his largely untested sexuality; that he couldn't have been scared off by a half dozen whip yielding hags carrying jars of honey, chains and a small cage of greased gerbils fed titbits laced with mood altering drugs. Yet, snogging with his beautiful new girlfriend had little or no effect on Draco's heart or body.

Draco knew full well what "the problem" was; there was only a matter of facing up to it. He now knew that he wasn't just "passing fond" of the Gryffindor witch; he was totally and absolutely besotted by her. He was so far gone that he could not make himself think of Hermione and 'Mudblood' together in the same sentence; there was no precedence for such a thing. Draco shut his eyes and turned his mind freely over to thoughts of Granger on the lakeshore - the soft lake breezes wafting the grey skirt up around the cotton clad thighs. As sure as the tide, a familiar stiffness returned to his boy bits. Draco smiled and enjoyed the initial pricklings of the party in his pants. It was now his hand crept to a warm place where the fabric was taunt, the boy bits willing.

So where were you twenty minutes ago? Come here. Yes... who's your daddy?

All indecision, all sullen behaviour, all self-pity in Draco came to an abrupt end that evening as he lay moaning in his four-poster. Between grunts, Draco took a moment to muse. Just as annoying Professor Snape was rude enough to point out the power base in Slytherin house had indeed shifted. Draco knew that before things got too far, it was his duty to shift the balance back to where it belonged, gripped firmly in hand; no pun intended.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Slytherin power was dynamic; continually shifting and changing as students graduated and new ambitious students stepped out from under the Sorting Hat. Only the school Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and a scant handful of other non-Slytherin at Hogwarts realized the seating arrangements at the Slytherin table was not the loose, casual arrangement found at the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw tables. Students at Slytherin sat according to rank, which subtly changed as each school year progressed, with higher-ranking students easing or slashing their way to the front of the Great Hall - the "greater end" of the table. Dumbledore did not allow the teachers to interfere with power plays of Slytherin. It was a hard and firm rule; no interference with the Slytherin pecking order. Despite the occasional bloodshed, Dumbledore's rule saved a great deal of trouble in the long run.

The following morning was Draco's first appearance in the Great Hall since the riot. He purposely waited to enter the hall until most of Slytherin were seated. When the hall was settled, Draco burst through the hall doors with the force of a winter storm, walking down centre aisle. His confident stride announced that he, Draco Malfoy was back and make no mistake - he owned the bloody place. Slytherin students looked round to watch Draco whose robes flashed behind him. No one else at Hogwarts wore robes with quite the panache of Draco. His expensive dark green Basilisk boots clicked authoritatively as he moved briskly towards the front of the hall - the greater end of the Slytherin table.

All students of the Slytherin table shifted, watching to see where Draco would seat himself, in his usual place closer to the greater end of the table - or farther back.

As the smart galleons had it, Draco marched straight to his usual seat, even though his cronies Goyle and Crabbe - Draco's faithful lap dogs - sat farther to the rear of the table, having anticipated Malfoy's demotion since Potions fiasco. As Draco arrived at his seat, he was not surprised, or alarmed to see Derrick, a sixth year boy and an oversized thug; a beater on the Quidditch team.

Draco stood momentarily behind the taller boy. He considered, only momentarily, asking Derrick to vacate the seat, but that would take more time. After days of snacking, Draco could have killed for a banger. Draco's temper snapped. Gritting his teeth angrily, Draco grabbed Derrick's collar and with a massive, and violent jerk, bodily hoisted the larger student off the seat and onto the floor with a thud.

Younger students were shocked by Draco's strength. Those who knew Draco best however, were not surprised. They knew that Draco's lean looks were deceptive. Though almost delicate in appearance, in part because of his pale features, and lanky 'seeker' physique, Draco was wiry and strong as a polar bear when pushed. He was also the smallest of the fifth year Slytherin wizards.

Draco placed his booted foot on Derrick's neck and applying pressure. He hissed; 'Don't ever take my place. Got that?'

Derrick, not easily intimidated, grabbed Draco's foot with intent to shove, but couldn't shift Draco's boot as much as a centimetre. Applying more pressure against Derrick's throat, Draco smiled as he watched the older boy struggling to breathe.

'Do you understand?' Draco repeated with great fury. 'Answer me or I'll be suing your parents for the cost of cleaning your blood from my boot.'

At that moment, four of Derrick's cronies shifted in their seats. Before the brutes could get to their feet, Draco pulled his wand on them. 'Do not fuck with me because you will lose. And I don't need to remind you, it won't even end here at school. My father has a lot of power and he's not afraid to use it.'

The startled thugs all settled back down on the bench, looking away from Draco's eyes like whipped dogs. Draco looked down at Derrick under his foot, his nostrils were flared like a dragon about to spit fire; his temper was about to crack and if it did, Derrick's life would not be worth a wooden Knut.

'Let me hear it. Come on, say it for Draco,' Draco snarled like a rabid Grim.

Derrick said nothing, not much of a surprise as he was gasping for his breath. Draco applied more pressure, musing that he had been too lax. There were more effective methods to breaking Derrick. Draco lowered his voice.

'I can shift my foot to where you might notice it,' He pointed with his wand to Derrick's crotch.

'I'm sorry! I'm sorry I took your seat Draco, please forgive me!' Derrick screamed. His voice was loud for having a boot pressing into his Adam's apple.

'That's better,' Draco removed his foot and slipped his wand away. Derrick, blue faced and terrified, scrambled up from the floor and retreated towards the lesser end of the table, not stopping until he was safely settled with the Slytherin first years.

'Oi, Crabbe, Goyle!' Draco called, 'why are you two doing down there? Budge up to my end!'

Those two are as dull as... no, wait...those two are the international standard for dullness.

Draco chuckled to himself. The rage he felt only moments earlier had entirely dissipated; he took his seat. On his right sat a one of the older boys who earlier in the week had spilled Draco's pumpkin juice. Draco fixed his cold grey eyes on the boy. 'You'll be more comfortable down there,' He gestured back towards the lower end of the Slytherin table. 'Run along.'

The boy leapt up, not even bothering to take his breakfast plate he darted towards off in the direction of Derrick. Two other older boys vacated the area without Draco having to say a word. Draco shuffled himself three seats closer to the greater end of the table.

With a smirk on his lips, Draco eyed the remaining upper echelons of the Slytherin table. 'Now then. I'm hungry enough to eat a River Troll's arse on toast. So if there is no other business on the table, would someone kindly shift the bangers and eggs here?' Draco's request was met with broad grins and many slaps on his back.

Draco was back.

As if a volume knob were suddenly turned up, the noise of chatting happy students again filled the hall. Messalina Zabini rose from her seat, and moved closer to the greater table end; a female Alpha wolf's mate always rises in rank with her mate. Messalina stood by Goyle, crossed her arms and tapped her tiny foot. Uncomplaining and still chewing, Goyle simply picked up his plate and moved down so Messalina could seat herself next to her wicked beau. Draco ignored her, tearing into a plate of bangers, poached eggs and scones. He was still a bit annoyed with Messalina

.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A few days later, Harry, Ron and Hermione headed for Potions class. It has not slipped Harry or Ron's attentions that of late, Hermione seemed content, even happy to head for Potions class. Hermione had always loathed Snape's class as much as any of them.

'Come on, hurry, we'll be late,' fussed Hermione, trying to get Ron and Harry to speed up their lagging steps as the three headed down to the dungeons where Snape's class was held.

'Hermione,' asked Ron. 'What is it with you?' Ron was having a particularly hard time understanding what was different with Hermione and why she was so annoyingly happy. Sometimes a worried or troubled friend was easier to deal with than an inexplicably cheerful one; especially one that was chipper about attending Snape's class. Ron decided to risk asking Hermione a carefully worded question so as to ascertain her position on certain matters. 'Here, you like Potions because you can see Malfoy there, right?'

'Why would I want to see Dra... Malfoy? I'm just really enjoying... learning about Potions this term. The historical potions we're studying are fascinating.' Turning her head slightly towards Ron, Hermione peeked, as if to check if he bought into her explanation.

'Right then; and I love Potions because I might get a look up Snape's robes,' snorted Ron.

'Come on Ron,' said Harry. 'Leave Hermione be. She's just over the moon about being a Prefect this year,' Harry was still the official referee in the ongoing Granger vs. Weasley war. Nothing on that score had improved since their fourth year.

When they arrived in the corridor outside of the Potions classroom, they were surprised to see several students standing around or sitting on the floor, school bags at their sides.

'Snape wants everyone to wait out here,' one Gryffindor boy told them. The entire class had assembled but the Potion room door was still tightly shut.

'What's Snape doing in there?' asked Harry a little unnerved.

'The git,' said Ron with great disgust. 'Probably putting stunning spells on all of our seats so we can be zapped if we get anything wrong.'

'Wouldn't put it past him,' said Harry.

On hearing the daunting comments, Neville Longbottom who stood nearby looked so worried that Hermione put an arm over his shoulder to distract him. That's all it ever took to distract Neville. Hermione's arm on Neville's shoulder would have distracted the boy from a live badger down his trousers.

On the far side of the corridor Draco stood, swapping sarcasms with his ex-girl Blaise Zabini. Draco snuck peeks at Hermione, soberly marvelling how Hermione made efforts to comfort her mate Longbottom, however lame they were - in Draco's opinion.

Granger even worries about that pitiful fat-arsed Thongbottom.

Draco took Blaise's hand and gave it a squeeze, still hoping against hope, that even at this late point, somehow he could transfer his feelings for Hermione to his girlfriend Messalina. It didn't work the previous week, or the previous day, and it wasn't working just now either. At least there was the consolation of 'accidentally' leaning up against Blaise, for old time's sake. She would report that information to her younger sister, who was a fourth year, and there would be hell to pay but Draco did not care.

Finally the doors to Snape's classroom opened and Snape, with an eerily uncharacteristic smile that was very nearly a grin, stepped out into the hall.

Everyone, especially the Slytherin students, knew that Snape wearing smile - much less a large smile - was up to something that wasn't going to bode well for anybody concerned. Neville involuntarily whimpered.

'I've rearranged the seating. Find your placards and sit where I've assigned you, no exceptions. Well, don't just stand there like frightened rabbits, go in, get yourselves seated.' Snape snapped.

Seating was now topsy-turvy - the nightmare seating arrangement of just about every student. For reasons not obvious to anyone, the usual Slytherin cliques were broken up. Vincent Crabbe was now located in the very front of the classroom with Harry for a desk mate. Harry could scarcely believe his bad luck, although he knew it was not exactly a fluke that he landed Crabbe as a partner - all the better to increase the odds of Harry accidentally being poisoning or blown up. Crabbe was nearly as poor with potion preparation as was Neville. But as far as the new seating arrangements went, compared to Ron, Harry was practically settled in with a cuddly stuffed bear and a security-blanket.

Ron was now located at a table to the immediate left of Snape's desk. And mind, that was not the bad news.

Ron's eyes were the size of saucers. His desk, which he now found himself sharing with Gregory Goyle, was next to a large house for housing live specimens, the size of a small shed. No student had ever seen the likes of the specimen house before. Long strips of three centimetres wide lead, held clear glass panes together, to form the structure. There were air holes along the top, each air hole large enough to admit a chicken's egg. The specimen house was filled to the brim with spiders; Bavarian Barking Spiders, Southern Spitting Spiders, and Dark Forest variety of Westfallian Wolf Spiders and the odd Tarantula and many other species of magical spiders besides. None of the spiders were small enough to pass through the egg-sized air holes. Unless, that is, any of the spider eggs, already present in the structure managed to hatch and escape a cannibalistic fate.

Snape stood at the front of the classroom, calmly enjoying the horrified reactions of his students.

'I am correcting a segment of your education which I have inadvertently neglected.' Snape beamed. 'Thus far in your education, you have primarily worked with desiccated and preserved specimens. The only live materials that my classes have dealt with are vegetative. I will now remedy that sad state of affairs.'

Snape looked about the room, noting which students looked interested, and which students looked about to pee themselves.

'You see before you a collection of the most poisonous and useful magical potions creatures to be found anywhere. You are to learn to handle and dispatch of these interesting arachnids, and to learn to use the correct methods to preparing them for fresh - and therefore highly potent potions.'

You could have heard a pin drop in the dungeon. As it was, one could only hear the spiders drop as they repeatedly climbed to the top of the spider house structure, fell to the bottom of the cage with audible plops, and climbed back up the glass to repeat the process. A particularly large deep purple spider with only five hairy legs, whistled loudly and repeatedly; it sounded like a hoarse parrot.

Unable to tear his eyes away from the macabre scene, Ron stared in horrified fascination at the green house full of his worst nightmares. An exceptionally unkind Slytherin boy popped Ron behind the ear with a spit ball. Ron shot straight up into the air, writhing like a worm on a griddle - which sadly enough was a sight, which many of the Slytherin students were to become familiar with over the coming weeks.

Draco did not notice Ron. He was totally agog over his new Potions class table assignment - the Granger Muggleborn. Draco stared freely at Hermione, no portion of her robed anatomy free from perusal. To Draco's bemused surprise, Hermione paid no attention to him whatsoever. She only stared with large hurt eyes at her Ron who had a deep-rooted fear of spiders. Everyone knew of Ron's phobia and obviously, so did Snape.

Snape continued to speak on the husbandry of gigantic highly magical and poisonous spiders. 'While I lecture, you may begin preparing ingredients for today's lab, which is on the board.' As Snape lectured, he patrolled the classroom, taking care to frequently stroll past the spider house. With each pass he took great pleasure in smacking the spider house with the straw end of an old

school racing broomstick.

TWACK, TWACK, TWACK.

With each strike of the broom, the spiders redoubled their frantic scurrying, leaping off the edges of the interior of the structure, some floating on silk strands like miniature paratroopers, others plopping to the cage bottom like dropped overripe melons. A giant horned spider barked like an agitated Yorkie when the post falls through the mail slot.

With each TWACK, Ron trembled like a newborn lamb in gale force winds.

Fighting tears, Hermione watched Ron subjected to inhumane and previously unimaginable punishment. Harry sat grinding his teeth, totally preoccupied imagining suitable and preferably lethal, revenge against Snape.

Draco momentarily stopped ogling Hermione, and thought with amusement that he must have been a very good little Slytherin indeed to be so rewarded with pleasures beyond his former imagination. Potions class would no longer be boring. From now on he could enjoy the puerile pleasures of being seated with the Granger and at least until all the spiders were captured and converted into powders and potions, he could watch Weasley shed patches of red-hair.

Draco was in paradise.

The reason for the sudden appearance of the spider house was not lost on Harry. Not for one minute did he believe that the spiders were present in Potions class for any other reason than for the harassment of arachnophobic Ron. Harry correctly reasoned that somehow word had gotten to Snape about the funfest in the Gryffindor Commons at Snape's expense. Or had Snape heard them rollicking on the stairwells before they even got back to their commons? Harry's reckoned that the very helplessness he and Hermione undoubtedly felt too, was all a part of Snape's twisted idea of revenge.

For their parts, Hermione had no idea about the play-acting at Snape's expense that happened the evening of the riot.

Ron was too frightened to think at all.

Under most circumstances, there were normally few notes passed or gossiping during Snape's class. This day however, notes flew about the room in response to summoning spells and banishing spells, so at times it looked like a flock of parchment coloured butterflies had been released in the dungeon. The cause for the paper flight centred not only on theories for the sudden presence of the spider house, but also on with whom Draco now shared a table. Slytherin students conversed surreptitiously about what fun and awful things Draco might eventually do to Granger. Savvier Slytherin noticed right away that Draco didn't look too awfully bent out of shape about his new seating partner. Slytherin witches seemed far more disturbed by the observation than Slytherin Wizards. Several Slytherin girls, in particular Blaise, were fit to be tied when they saw Hermione sitting alongside their 'Divine Draco'.

Shortly into the day's lesson, spit balls shot through the air to pelt Hermione whenever Snape turned his attention to snarling at Harry over some contrived nonsense, bullying Neville or thwacking the glass spider flat.

Draco continued stared impertinently at Hermione at every opportunity as he worked on the day's potion preparation. Hermione nervously and studiously ignored the cheeky boy. At last, Draco ventured to speak.

'So Miss Granger,' he drawled in a voice he hoped sounded disinterested. 'You are the lucky one, are you not?'

'Lucky? Lucky about what?' whispered Hermione, removing a spit ball from her cheek, with the dignity of a princess.

'Lucky in the draw for a desk partner,' Draco beamed.

'Allow me to analyze your statement Malfoy,' began Hermione who busied herself cutting up bloodroot bulbs while studiously ignoring a spit ball that ricocheted off her forehead. 'Today I have the extraordinary luck to be paired - again - with a snooty wizard who calls me filthy names and makes rude gestures at me, a wizard who is probably flunking potions class and if that is not enough,' she said frantically chopping now. 'Now I get to be the hate object of every one of your twisted Slytherin classmates.'

Bloodroot juice was beginning to fly now as Hermione chopped wildly. 'And my dear friend Ron,' her eyes welled up with tears she refused to give up, 'is sitting next to his worse nightmare.'

'Yes, but you get to sit with me.' Draco wanted to push Granger, see how angry she would become. He placed his hand on Hermione's thigh under the table.

Hermione took a vicious swing at Draco with her fist, but he ducked and she missed. Fixing a lethal stare on Draco she spoke through gritted teeth. 'I am not finished speaking,' The room temperature seemed to drop several degrees for Draco. 'I want to add, that since the riot, precipitated by you and your silly wand, my two best friends think I am some kind of "scarlet woman".

'You do blush an awful lot,' mused Draco.

Snape called out towards the Draco and Hermione. 'Less talking back there.' Snape wondered momentarily if he had inadvertently arranged for another round of "ferrets in heat" to disrupt his classroom. But then, as Draco was sitting with the hated Gryffindor Muggleborn, Snape dismissed the ridiculous notion from his mind.

Save for spit balls flying about like demented honeybees, the hour that followed was quiet. Snape made a mental note of Gryffindor note launchers so he could single them out for future punishment.

Hermione said little or nothing. She noted with much dismay that whenever she risked a peek at Harry, he was looking back at her sympathetically, so she knew had not lost a friend there. But whenever she looked towards Ron, when he wasn't glaring wide eyed at Hungarian Hump-backed Spiders, he glaring at her. Hermione wiped an occasional escaped tear as she pondered what Ron's glacial stares might mean.

Draco wondered why Hermione was so preoccupied with the "work-house Weasel". He gradually allowed himself to admit that Hermione must have feelings, however misguided, for the red-haired pillock. He noticed how elegantly Hermione ignored a spit ball that bounced off of her tender pink cheek. Draco felt something new for Hermione, a novel emotion for him - sympathy. Draco wondered if Potter ever had the good sense to snog, feel up, or otherwise molest Hermione.

No, Saint Harry Pouter Pigeon is too lame to see what is in front of him.

Draco wondered about the Weasel and Hermione - that seemed ripe for possibilities. Wasn't Ron always the first to fly off the handle when Draco was near Hermione? He pondered whether Ron had more than passing familiarity with Granger.

Might be... everyone knows the Weasels have too many children, the oversexed inferiors. Yes, might have to eliminate the Weasel. How she stares at the worthless git.

Draco was thrilled at the opportunity to be seated with Hermione, but he was no fool. He was well aware that Snape had placed him with Hermione and not for the reason most of his classmates thought - that Hermione could assist Malfoy with lessons, awful as that thought was. No, the true reason that Draco found himself sitting next to the Hermione was that Snape wanted to provoke Draco to doing his best work. Snape hoped that in seating the unlikely pair together, Hermione's good grades would goad Draco into competing with her, to ultimately surpass the Gryffindor girl. Draco knew this and he knew that Galleons to Knuts, Hermione was smart enough to figure that out for herself.

Draco stared at the lab instructions he had copied, as if pondering the formulation for the assigned lab potion. Nasty sort of boy-thoughts again flooded Draco's mind and he was rapidly becoming rather uncomfortable tight in his trousers - thank the stars for school robes, a randy wizard's best friend. Whenever Draco looked up, Hermione averted her eyes downward to her parchment. What was the Muggleborn thinking; perhaps nasty sort of girl-thoughts?

Draco had come to the conclusion weeks ago, that it was now more than just nasty boy-thoughts that attracted him to Hermione. He liked the loyalty she showed to her friends, genuinely caring about them. Slytherin could appreciate loyalty. Draco thought the girl overly emotional, but still she was brave when the chips were down. After all, she had stood up to him and few witches, even Slytherin witches; the girl had that kind of nerve. She hadn't fallen apart in the face of his nasty quips and blatantly rude behaviour on the Quidditch pitch and the lakeshore. Draco became uncomfortably aware that several of the very things that he hated about Potter were the very things that he admired about Hermione. As Draco ground a mortar full of salted flamingo tail oil glands, his head jerked up. With a lurch of his stomach, Draco realized for the first time that it was impossible for him to think about the Granger witch without the dread "L" word surfacing from the depths of his soul. He stood staring at Hermione for so long that Hermione turned scarlet, keeping her back to Draco and her head down.

A fresh barrage of spit balls gave the area around Hermione the look of light snowfall.

Nothing to do but feel resigned to it. Draco Malfoy's heart skipped a couple of beats. No doubt about it, he was in love with an inferior, a Muggleborn, witch.

Father is going to murder me.

He wanted to do something about his feelings, something, anything. So he left his seat on the guise of going for additional flamingo bits. He strode slowly past Blaise Zabini, informing her that if she didn't call off the "spit ball throwing harpy bitches from hell', Crabbe and Goyle would be unleashed on their attractive feminine arses. It was an old threat that Draco himself didn't even understand the meaning of, but it worked often enough. All but a few of the more stubborn Slytherin girls ceased harassing the Granger witch.

Finally the end of the lab drew near. Draco and Hermione managed to combine their significant talents at potion making to successfully whip up a first rate potion and its antidote. The potion prepared by Draco was administered - for extra credit points - to Neville. The potion added four and a half feet to Neville's height, who enjoyed being able to look down on Snape. Hermione prepared the antidote that caused Neville to telescope back down to his normal height.

The new Potions team of Draco and Hermione earned full marks from Snape. That is saying a lot since Hermione avoided speaking to or looking at Draco. Still, during clean up time, with only ten minutes to spare before class ended, Draco made a decision.

'Granger,' Draco whispered.

Hermione glared at him saying nothing.

'I'm sorry about the spit balls earlier. Say, can we go for a walk after dinner?'

'I must to revise for my...'

'Granger.' Draco sighed. 'If I have to wait for you to have free time from revision and homework, I'll be asking you out when you're the one with silver hair.'

A smile briefly flashed across Hermione's face. 'There's a table full of Slytherin girls over there, who'd love to go with you... anywhere. Why do you want to walk with me?'

'Because... ' Draco paused, feeling uncomfortable. He didn't want to say what he was thinking.

Because you are not what I was told to expect from a Muggleborn. You're fucking noble. Nobler than I am even - if that's possible - why you're Harry fucking Potter in a tweed skirt.

Draco momentarily held his tongue. Then, in a whisper he spoke. 'Look Granger, don't make me beg. I'm not good at it and anyway it makes my bum itch.'

Hermione ducked her head and pretended to reach into her school bag for something. Draco pretended to drop his quill and followed her under the desk.

'Well? Should I be whipping up a potion for an itchy bum?' Draco asked.

Hermione smiled for the first time since class began.

'All right Malfoy... Draco. Not tonight I have my Prefect's meeting. And tomorrow I promised Neville I'd help him with his Potions homework.'

'You're choosing Thongbottom over a date with me?' Draco shoved his hands in his robe pockets and laughed softly.

The look that Hermione shot Draco convinced him that careful use of language when mentioning friends of Hermione would work wonders for their potential 'relationship'.

'I apologize Granger. I meant, you would willing choose Longbottom over a date with me?'' Draco couldn't believe he had just apologized to a witch.

Hermione seemed to realize what a strain the apology was for Draco.

'Listen Malfoy, can we avoid any drama?' Hermione spoke frankly, as she always did. 'I'll be free Saturday night and curfew is later so we can walk... under the moon. Perhaps we can just meet by the lake, at the scene of the wand-dunking. Seven-thirty?'

'Yes, that will do. Seven-thirty.'

Draco hadn't felt so happy since he'd grappled Granger onto the sand at the Quidditch pitch.

'No fights, no fuss, no picking fights with Ron or Harry ahead of time?'

Hermione hadn't felt so happy since realizing she rather enjoyed Draco jumping on her in the sand of the Quidditch pitch.

'Right then,' Draco whispered. The Gryffindor witch was going to be a difficult. 'No fights, no feuding, no fun. Have it your way Granger.'

Upon sitting up both took direct hits of spit balls to the head but neither paid heed.

'I'm at my nadir.' thought one of the pair.

'I'm at my zenith.' thought the other.