Draco's Delicate Condition

Chapter 4 - One Enchanted Evening

Although Quidditch season was a month away, for all the Hogwarts houses, team tryouts were underway. Madame Hooch, the flying instructor and Hogwarts Quidditch teams' manager, organized all the tryouts. It was necessary to recruit new team members for training replacing graduating seventh year students. The first pair of tryouts went off without hitch on a Thursday afternoon, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses sharing the pitch. Hogwarts faculty and pupils alike attended the Ravenclaw tryouts. Harry and Draco as Captains of Gryffindor and Slytherin sat in the stands for the Ravenclaw tryouts, hoping to scope out the upcoming competition. Draco thought that only one new team player in Ravenclaw seemed to be worth any note and he, as Harry, skipped the Hufflepuff tryouts all together. The Hufflepuff tryouts were held later that day, but were not heavily attended. Had Draco or Harry attended the Hufflepuff tryouts, they'd have been baffled by the Hufflepuff team member recruitment, replacing more than half of the previous team members.

A week later, the tryouts for Gryffindor and Slytherin filled the stadium just as if the meet were for a regular Quidditch match. Just as for the first round of tryouts the weather was windy. Rain fell intermittently through the late afternoon on into the evening. Harry sat up in the stands, excited about his new duties that added a new dimension to his love of Quidditch. Clipboard and quill in hand, Harry sat happily watching the proceedings down below on the pitch. At Harry's side sat Hermione, who was there solely to keep Harry company. Hermione's schoolbag lay at her feet and she had a massive library book open on her lap. Harry was chatting like a jackdaw on a sugar rush. Hermione occasionally politely nodded saying, 'Oh, yes, I see.' with as much interest as she could muster. It was not as though Hermione's mind were on the library book that was entitled, by the daunting title, Advanced Quantitative Arithmancy by Professor Mathew N. Calquelus. Hermione's full attention was actually focused down stadium on Draco Malfoy who sat alone, fully outfitted in his green Quidditch robes, his clipboard and quill in hand. Hermione always thought that nothing was sexier than a Hogwarts boy outfitted in Quidditch uniform. Hermione thought Harry wore his uniform best of all the Hogwarts boys, although she was obviously more than a little prejudiced. But there was no denying; Draco Malfoy wore his Quidditch uniform like a graceful second skin. Draco seemed a little slower in growth than the other boys, a bit behind in height and development. But although still a little on the gangly side, Draco had 'filled in' a bit over the summer. He developed more defined muscles although he still maintained the lanky build of a seeker. And Draco looked remarkably good anything leather, the protective Quidditch gloves, kneepads - the full cauldron's worth. In fact, had it not been for watching the boys zooming around on their brooms in those splendid uniforms, Hermione would have ceased attending Quidditch games years ago. The girl didn't realize that she had sighed audibly, as she drifted in and out of particularly nasty sort of girl-thoughts and then realized to her embarrassment that she was blushing. She was grateful that if Harry noticed, he was kind enough to remain silent. Harry always noticed.

Draco noted to his chagrin that there was not one, but two 'Weasels' trying out for Gryffindor - Ron Weasley, and Ron's baby sister Ginny.

And baby makes four... no these are the Weasleys; baby makes an inordinate amount of red-haired, freckled bottom-feeders?

The twins Fred and George Weasley had already earned a permanent place on the Gryffindor team as Beaters. Draco was an astute judge of "Quidditch Flesh" and he suspected the agile witch Ginny, who likely cut her baby teeth on the racing brooms of her five older brothers, was likely worth keeping an eye on. Draco didn't trouble himself to give Ron Weasley's Quidditch skills a second thought.

Harry said to Hermione, 'Too bad it couldn't be a little colder, more blustery. Then the weaker players could be winnowed off quicker. Isn't Ginny cute?'

Hermione snapped back from her girlish daydreams. 'What?' She was always pleased to hear Harry taking any notice that Ginny drew breath and walked the earth. Ginny had a crush on Harry from as long as Hermione could remember, and had always thought the two would make a lovely match. But Harry had always considered Ginny's bold adoration of him to be a major nuisance.

'I mean,' said Harry 'isn't it cute that Ginny is trying out for the team against Ron?'

'What do you mean "cute"? Ginny's a wicked player, you've said so yourself Harry, dozens of times.'

'Well, yes, but well... I meant relatively good. She's only ever played against her brothers. They're gentle with her. She's their baby sister, isn't she?'

'Oh? Do I not distinctly recall you saying that Ginny's brothers treated her like... and I'm quoting you Harry, "a smegging human bean bag"? Have I got your former assessment correct? We've both watched the Weasley brothers try to flatten Ginny. You know as well as I do that she hold's her own, gives those Weasley boys a run for their Knuts.'

Harry laughed. 'Yes, I reckon so.' Harry changed the subject, sort of. 'Anyway, glad to see Ron trying for the team. He's always hesitated to try out, what with Fred and George already on the team - hates following in their boot steps.'

'Oh, yes, I see.' said Hermione. Her attention back to marvelling at the late afternoon sun glinted off Draco's silky hair.

Harry noticed the focus of Hermione's attention and with a devilish grin, he asked, 'So Hermione, you're still agreeable to bearing Snape's children? If you don't, Ron will have to undergo that painful surgery in Stockholm, and since Snape insists on quadruplets, it'll be difficult at best. I told them I will be glad to fill in for you or Ron, but I've got so much homework to do, and Quidditch practice and all.'

'Oh, yes, that'll be fine.' Hermione glanced at Harry and saw that her response wasn't enough so she added, 'Right Harry. Will do.' Hermione sighed, and entertained herself with more nasty sort of girl-musings about the blonde Slytherin down stadium.

Meanwhile, below on the field, Madame Hooch organized a mock game between the Gryffindor newcomers and the established Gryffindor players. 'First a half hour warm up with a little practice game to see how well you all handle yourselves. For the practice game, there will be no Snitch released, only so we can get in a full half hour of gaoling. Now then, any questions?'

Ginny politely waved her hand. 'Madame Hooch, what if we wish to try out for more than one position?'

'Good question Miss Weasley. Those who haven't sorted out their special skills as yet, go to one area, and after the initial tryouts, we'll hold a second round. Now! Everyone understand? Then please mount your broomsticks.'

Soon, high above Madame Hooch's head, the hopeful team-mates hovered, fighting to keep control of their brooms the wind that had picked up just as Harry had hoped for.

Ron sat his broom, from high above the stadium. He was trying out as Chaser, mostly because he didn't want to compete with his twin Beater brothers Fred and George, or Harry, who was a seeker. Ginny was game to try for Chaser, but also for reserve Beater backing her brothers.

Hooch threw the Quaffle up into the milling throng of players. Ron shot into the milling mass of "amateurs" to grab the Quaffle; only it was no longer there. His head swivelled frantically and there was his baby sister Ginny, streaking at breakneck speed with the red Quaffle tucked under her arm, easily eluding her pursuers. Ginny scored the goal, even against the stand-in Gryffindor keeper who was admittedly not on full alert against the contenders. But with the goal scored, the regular keeper now meant business.

Ron sat his broom, laughing. To Ron's credit, he wished Ginny nothing but happy flying.

Without looking up from her book, Hermione commented to Harry, 'Oh. Ginny is good then, isn't she?'

Harry nodded like an indulgent uncle. Ginny was small but made up for size with uncanny manoeuvring skill and a wicked skill for spotting everyone else's weak spots. Harry sat up abruptly as he suddenly realized that Ginny was a viable contender.

Hermione muttered 'Duh', under her breath.

'I heard that Hermione,' Harry chuckling.

In the course of the warm up game, Ginny scored against Gryffindor's keeper numerous times. Those watching from the stands below commented that Ginny put them in mind of Angelina Johnson, a talented Gryffindor Chaser. Angelina herself - no surprise - had three game brothers who kept her in practice over summer Holidays.

After two warm up games, in which Ginny took the Chaser for one, and the second in which she acted as Beater, Harry conferred with Hooch to discuss the strongest of the new talent. Hooch agreed with Harry that Ron was in fact, team quality. At times Ron seemed a little unsure of himself, and he wasn't as recklessly bold a player as Ginny. But that was of no concern, the talent was there, confidence would come later. And anyway, putting the polish on new players was the fun part for Hooch. Between she and Harry, Ron would be feeling his oats by the first game of the year.

Harry noted that without a doubt, Ginny was also team quality and already had enough confidence for two players. Hooch fully agreed with Harry.

Harry also noted that Ginny, who attended the tryouts in light blue sweats was rather nice to watch as the slight girl darted above the pitch on a school racing broom, her thick red ponytail, trailing behind her like a fox's tail. Harry thought that Ginny resembled a graceful and yet powerful blue damselfly on the wind. Ginny looped through the stiff winds; taking advantage of air currents with a skill he'd watched before but never really saw before. Harry wondered why he had never noticed before how graceful Ginny was.

In the end, the actual assignments to the Weasleys were a little different than expected. In the end Ginny was awarded a place on the Gryffindor as Chaser, and was given the honour being the only reserve seeker. Ron made the team as Chaser and reluctantly accepted a position as reserve Beater. Harry also recruited Ron as his assistant and was quite careful to emphasize to Ron that he was chosen because, as a long time Quidditch enthusiast, Ron was truly was superior to Harry at Quidditch strategy, techniques and had a good eye for effective plays. Ron tried his best to hide the fact that he was totally delighted all around.

While Hooch and Harry spoke with the other new Gryffindor team-mates, the Slytherin were back at their commons, champing at the bit to get on the pitch for the tryouts. For the Slytherin, the tryouts, or rather the new team "payoffs" had been in progress since the school year began.

As a matter of fact, it was only one week prior to tryouts, two Slytherin team hopefuls met with quirky accidents and were restricted to the Hogwarts infirmary. Another potential new Slytherin player was hit by a random blast of an ever-sneezing charm during a little good-natured carousing between classes. Ever-sneezing charms are dangerous as they cause the eyes to close for each sneeze, and one can't fly with one's eyes pinched shut. In short a regrettable string of events effectively eliminated a total of five Slytherin team hopefuls, prior to the start of try-outs. No one in Slytherin was naive enough to think the "accidents" were accidental, nor did they care. Slytherin was for bleeding Salazar's sake, Slytherin. Such tactics, or more precisely the lack there of, were simply a normal part of the Slytherin ethics.

It is of interest to note the last time a witch flew for the Slytherin Quidditch team was between the years 1560 to 1565 when the young dark witch, Sara the Slayer, was in her prime. However, each year since the 1960s, many hopeful Slytherin witches tried for team positions. Some witches settled for positions under male team members but that is a story for a different time - preferably at the Three Broomsticks after hours with Ogden's Blue Label Scotch served all around.

Annually a few of the luckier Slytherin witches made it as far as the actual Quidditch try-outs before being eliminated - in one horrible case, fatally when a Bludger was savagely beaten into the witch's path. An ugly story that - still under investigation by the Ministry of Magic. It was no wonder that witches attempting to join the Slytherin team did not enter into the situation lightly.

This year, there were two hopeful witches trying out for the Slytherin Quidditch team - one of which was none other than Draco's current girl, Messalina. As Draco was team Captain Messalina entertained the delusion that her spot on the Slytherin team was a sure thing.

For his part, Draco viewed that denial of a team slot for Messalina was a sure-fire way to eliminate Messalina as his girl. That in turn would bring Draco closer to his personal goal of bringing forth Hermione as his chosen girl in the sweet by and by. However, Draco knew that his ambitious undertaking was going to be difficult. His plan required angering Messalina enough that she would break up with him, and yet not angering her enough that she would then murder him. Draco's goal therefore was a dodgy undertaking at best.

The Playing of Quidditch by the Slytherin team was an exact science based on the principle that what the referee did not observe, did not happen. It was therefore that the most important and lauded Slytherin team positions were the Beaters, as they were able to put the dangerous Bludgers to their most sinister use.

In Quidditch, the solitary goal of the black Bludger balls is to disable or distract players. Stray Bludgers were known on rare occasions to kill spectators, much less players. The capability of Bludgers to eliminate opposition explained the Slytherin love affair with Beaters and Bludgers.

It was just such sentiments that Draco spent an hour lecturing about in the early afternoon in Slytherin commons. Afterwards all Slytherin headed for the pitch for the spectacle of the team tryouts. The Gryffindor team was just vacating the field when the Slytherin players and newcomers arrived, equally ready for tryouts and trauma, though unlike Gryffindor they expected more of the latter.

Prior to warm-up, Draco persuaded the dubious Madame Hooch to allow the entire current Slytherin team to play against the new contenders. Eventually Hooch was persuaded to allow a full one-hour practice game, again sans Snitch. The hopefuls include eight newcomers; brutish Slytherin wizards and the two witches, one of whom was Messalina. The other witch was, of course, certifiably barking if she thought she had a change in hell of winning a slot on the team.

By the time the game started, the skies were darkening and clouds gathering overhead. The stadium filled to the rafters because there was no known entertainment at Hogwarts as exciting or exhilarating as Slytherin vs. Slytherin. Even most of the school's teachers attended Slytherin tryouts. Only a dozen lions and a handful of Christians sporting pocket-knives, could have hoped to provide more nerve racking and edge of the seat entertainment.

As Madame Hooch threw the Quaffle up, the Slytherin regulars took the offensive against the newcomers. Draco watched from the sidelines. Within the first five minutes, two of the new wizards and one of the witches were on the ground, limping, or being assisted in hobbling towards the locker rooms. Madame Hooch removed an equal complement of the Slytherin regulars from the game to even the odds for the new contenders.

The remaining wizards and the remaining witch who was Messalina, hovered confidently about, waiting for Madame Hooch to toss up the Quaffle. Draco signalled Madame Hooch for a time out. He mounted his Starshotz 5000 Racing Broom and shot up into the air for a conference with the regular Slytherin team members only.

Draco addressed his Beaters.

'Listen to me gentleman. These are your future team-mates, not the Gryffindor or Hufflepuff riff-raff. I want you to bung the Bludgers at each of the newcomers at least a few times, so we can see how they respond. Aim for their broomsticks, not their heads. We want to winnow out the weak, not kill the lot of them. However, I must emphasis that Messalina is my girl, and I want her to receive special treatment. I want her unharmed. Understand? There hasn't been a girl on the Slytherin team in ages, and I would be proud to break that chauvinistic attitude by having a witch on Slytherin team during my watch. Well. I've made myself clear. Good luck.'

Draco flew down to the pitch. Spoke for a bit with Madame Hooch and returned to his lookout spot in the stands.

Draco's little sky-high "pep talk" will now be translated to Muggle English for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Slytherin dialect. What Draco actually conveyed to his Slytherin team-mates was the following:

'Oi arse-holes! What are you toley twats thinking about up there, your goolies? I'm not seeing near enough blood here. I want some action out there, broken bones, more body parts flying than broomsticks! Now get with the program or I'll have your lazy hides for braces!

And by the way, about my girl. You cheesy clods make it your personal goal in life to get Messalina's admittedly adorable, thong-clad, tight little arse OFF the pitch and I don't care what you have to do to arrange it. Got that? If she makes a good showing I will personally see to it that your lives here at Slytherin aren't worth two sickles and a handful of wrinkled Knuts. Now MOVE!'

As Draco requested, the rebellious brutes of Slytherin made special efforts to "accidentally on purpose" eliminate Messalina. Two opponent Chasers approached the annoyed witch, one brute diving from great height above, and a second approaching diagonally from below. The two swept past her so close that she was flipped into a tailspin and was nearly unseated. Before she could recover, a Bludger, that appeared to be aimed towards a newcomer in far field, hit Messalina square in her side and she plummeted 35 feet to the pitch. The audience in the grandstands groaned. They'd hoped against all reason that Messalina would actually make the Slytherin team.

For his part, Draco was honestly relieved that the witch made it to the ground apparently none the worse for having the breath knocked out of her and acquiring a limp. But Draco was stunned when Messalina unexpectedly and stubbornly refused to forfeit the game. She gamely remounted her broom and kicked off into the sky for another go.

Messalina was angry now and respectfully leery of the regular team-mates. When a Slytherin regular shot a ball towards the goal, Messalina dived like a shot, intercepted the Quaffle, passing it to a newcomer. She then went heavily on the defensive, classic Slytherin style, flying point blank into the opposing t Beater knocking the bat from his hand, causing him to miss the Bludger aimed at one of Messalina's wizard team-mates. The contender made the shot and the newcomers scored their first points. The stadium spectators leapt to their feet, and roared their approval for the bold Slytherin witch.

Draco blasphemed quietly to himself. The more the Slytherin regulars poured it on, the faster and more flat out defensive kick-ass, whip-arse Messalina played. The other newcomers rallied around Messalina's spirit and to Draco's horror, the practice game was providing more entertainment value and show of skills on the side of the newcomers than he cared to admit. When the obligatory hour's play was up, and Madame Hooch blew her whistle, Messalina was still in the game. The stadium erupted with cheers, shouting 'Messalina, Messalina, Messalina!' Hermione and Ginny and every other young witch in the stadium jumped up and down in a strong show of support for the Slytherin witch. The excitement was heady and Neville sat up in the stands with his new mate, the 6th year redhead witch. Neville required a breath-easy potion, administered by Madame Pomfrey.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Following the tryouts, Hermione loitered. She lied to Harry, telling him that she wanted to take advantage of the fresh air to complete her Arithmancy homework in the stands. Harry wasn't fooled for one minute by his dear friend's lie. He had no idea just what was going on with Hermione, but whatever it was, he knew she'd tell him when she was ready. After Harry left, and after most of the stands had emptied of students, Draco sought out Hermione in the stands.

'So, Granger. Loitering?'

'I'm not loitering.' The girl said, diving into a bold faced lie. 'I am doing my homework.'

'Really?' asked Draco with concern. 'Then you are aware that your homework is headed down stadium at 9 knots?'

'Oh,' Hermione whipped her head around to see that sure enough, there were her parchments floating along the pitch on the wind.

'To the rescue!'

Draco climbed onto his broomstick and kicked off. He didn't chase after the parchments to snatch them out of the air. Instead, in true idle Draco fashion, he spun tight corkscrew loops down to the floor of the pitch, and then shot up at a near forty-five degree angle, climbing high above the stadium, where he hovered. He laid forward on his broom looking down to Hermione who sat in the stands. Hermione thought that Draco looked like a lean leopard lying straddled on a branch in midair. They waved at each other and it was a safe bet that Hermione wasn't the only one showing solid signs of being initially besotted. After several happy minutes, when the parchments had scattered hopelessly around the pitch, Draco suddenly dropped into a steep drop, pulling up only a couple of feet above the sands. Stretching out flat on his broom, he flew snatching the parchments out of the air like a swallow hunting insects.

As she watched Draco's acrobatics, Hermione's heart beat like a little trip hammer. She had taken several quiet and maddeningly uneventful walks along the grounds with Draco since they were partnered together in Potions class. Tonight was the event of their forth, or was it their fifth evening walk? Hermione knew that tonight was the evening they were to see each other and she reckoned things either move along or break up altogether. The girl had high hopes for some meaningful activity with Draco come evening. If only she could come up with an excuse for him to wear his Quidditch robes on their walk.

When Draco returned, landing next to her in the stands, his cheeks were pink; half from the brisk winds, but mostly finding himself again facing Hermione. He handed her the fist full of parchment paper.

'I'm looking forward to our... walk... tonight,' said Draco.

'Me too...' said Hermione.

It was truly a wonder that neither of the two had tiny little red hearts floating up out of the tops of their heads.

Looking insufferably proud, Draco asked, 'Do I get a reward for returning this incredibly valuable homework to milady?'

Hermione looked thoughtfully at Draco. She had no intention of being easy. She'd thought about this sort of thing all through her fourth year at Hogwarts, thinking carefully about what sort of young lady she intended to become. She also had thought of the level of morals she hoped to maintain for herself as she walked with Draco on their evening walks about the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione thought that "easy" was for the likes of Blaise Zabini or Pansy Parkinson; witches who wore too much makeup and jumped in and out of relationships faster than they changed their knickers. No, Hermione was going to be a lady of worth, a witch of integrity. Hermione's priorities were at long last sorted out.

Hermione stood looking at Draco, her eyes almost stern in her resolution. Then the young witch threw her arms around Draco Malfoy's neck, and thanked him with a kiss that expressed all the enthusiasm of a young lady who was discovering that she had trouble resisting a cute wizard in the jersey and leathers of a Quidditch uniform.

A little earlier, below the stands, Ron Weasley stood at the corner of the stadium walkway. After the Gryffindor tryout, he had changed out of his Quidditch robes and jerseys. Earlier, Harry assured Ron that Hermione was still in the stands so Ron stood by the Gryffindor exit area waiting and waiting so he could walk with her back to the castle. Ron wanted to meet Hermione by accident although he would have been hard pressed to understand why he didn't just climb into the stands and ask her to walk with him. It was about the time that Ron finally gave up on the accidental meeting plan, that he saw Malfoy zooming around the pitch like a Peregrine Falcon. He thought that Malfoy was catching the parchment as an improvised method of practice. He watched, knowing that he was watching an accomplished flier, one nearly in Ron's opinion nearly as good as Harry was. Ron was just about to give it up and leave the stadium alone, when Draco aimed his broom, zipping straight into the stands. Ron saw Draco skid to an aerial halt where stood Hermione - hopping in her little celebratory dance. Then to Ron's complete stupefaction, he saw what he hoped was an illusion - Hermione enthusiastically flinging her arms around Malfoy. The witch did not seem to be pecking Malfoy's cheek in the platonic way that she sometimes kissed her friends, Harry or himself. To Ron it seemed that Hermione was engaging in a genuine snog. Ron's face became an angry red mask. He left the stadium quickly, heading back towards the castle, where he said nothing about the incident, not even to Harry.

The following morning, Draco announced the new team members just before Slytherin Quidditch practice. The team hopefuls and others met on the pitch where Draco read out the names of the new players. Messalina was not on the list. When she didn't hear her name the wronged witch stood quietly. She showed no anger. Her face did not even hint at deep the deep disappointment that Draco knew she must feel. Messalina showed no emotion whatever. She took up her racing broomstick and walked off the pitch.

It was Messalinas' calm and quiet dignity that scared Draco half out of his wits. He had expected a row; some showy, out of control, female emotion he could have used as direct evidence that in fact, Messalina was unsuitable for the rough sport of Quidditch. But while he was quite sure that his initial plan of Messalina breaking up with him was well underway - he knew one additional thing for a fact; sooner or later, Messalina would make him pay dearly.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that evening it took than 2 hours of preening like a budgie at the mirror for Draco to feel he had the right look for his date with Hermione. He polished his best Chinese Fireball skin boots until they shined like they were still on the dragon. He had cleaned his teeth at least three times since the evening meal. Draco was shooting for a look, not so casual that Hermione would think that he didn't care about his appearance, but not so polished that she be rendered speechless - a delicate balance at best. He considered himself in luck as his hair had grown out from short crop he started the school year with. His hair was approaching shaggy, which he thought was his best look - he was perfect. He wore his favourite baby blue jumper that made his pale grey eyes look bluish. He wore his favourite dark navy trousers that had thirteen buttons on the front, like Muggle sailors wear. As usual, Draco had no problem sneaking out of the Slytherin Commons. He made it to the Lake forty-five minutes early. Then, feeling rather embarrassed that he'd been anxious enough to arrive early; he went hid at the edge of the dark forest until 7:30. Nothing is easy about being young even when you are a wizard.

By the time Hermione arrived at the lake promptly at 7:45, Draco was dejected, thinking that she wasn't going to show. As the girl approached, Draco felt light-headed at the sight of her. Hermione appeared shy and that only enchanted Draco all the more. For a few rapid heartbeats, Draco was speechless. Hermione had chosen her usual after school clothing, no robes, only a jumper over a simple blouse, jeans and a comfortable pair of trainers. Still, the effect on Draco was akin to a Victorian gentleman seeing his ladylove stripped of voluminous skirts and hoops and standing in chemise, corsets and stays.

Draco couldn't help himself, his thoughts whirled between imagined romantic walks along sun swept beaches, and stripping the jeans and... well, suffice to say, he entertained his usual nasty sort of boy-thoughts. It might do to mention at this point that under any circumstances nasty sort of boy thoughts and Draco were a team and therefore were seldom very far apart. Certainly such thoughts were always close at hand when he was near to Hermione.

Draco cursed softly under his breath when he saw Fang trailing behind the girl. Fang wagged his great heavy tail and drooled copious quantities of white spittle. It occurred to Draco that it was ironic because in all honestly, he couldn't blame the dog for drooling. Were Draco to walk behind Hermione, his eyes at her bum for any length of time, he knew he would probably drool too.

Stupid elephant-dog; probably shreds anyone who touches the girl.

Draco patted his wand in a trouser pocket and decided if need be he was prepared to deal with Fang.

'Hello Granger.'

'Hello Malfoy. I was afraid picking up Fang would make me run late,. Promised Hagrid I'd walk him once in a while... have McGonagall's permission, as long as I'm back by 10 o'clock.'

'Well Hermione,' Draco said the name slowly as if he was still growing used to the sound and feel of the devilishly tricky Muggle name on his tongue. 'I want you to call me Draco.' He shrugged lazily. 'At least when your little friends Potter and Weasley aren't around - wouldn't do to shock or upset them.'

'Can I tell you something... personal?' asked Hermione. 'I've always admired your name... Draco. The Dragon.' Hermione walked over to Draco and peered innocently into his eyes, smiling, and happily unaware of the dastardly nasty thoughts that swam within.

'Sorry.' said Draco in a matter of fact voice. 'Always hated your name. Don't get me wrong, "Hermione" is nice enough, for a Muggle name, but you look more like...' Draco took Hermione's chin and pulled her face to his. 'You want a soft sounding name...soft like your skin.' He tilted her face and examined it as though searching for hints. 'A flowery name perhaps? Hum.. Iris, Daisy... no not Daisy, too common. Maybe "Stem" - your legs are dead lovely - or perhaps "Petals" or something.' He grinned and looked downward with some embarrassment. His cheeks heated quickly at the feel of Hermione on his fingertips.

'Narcissus...like your mother's name?' Hermione suggested with a grin.

'Ugh! Please! No Oedipal complex for me! I only mean that you have a very soft, pretty face. Not beautiful really, but passing pretty.' The devilishness crept back into his eyes. 'I must say though, your body is wicked. Keeps me up nights - no pun intended.'

Hermione put her hand in front of her mouth trying not to giggle. 'Passing pretty?'

'Women. Never satisfied. Well, unless they hang with me. Damn me, well, you're very nearly as pretty as I am.'

'You are a perfect devil.' Hermione glimpsing shyly at Draco sideways. 'Your name is not much better than mine; Dragon. Doesn't match your handsome face. Not handsome as much as it is pretty I suppose. The prettiest face of any boy at school. Maybe except maybe for our lost Cedric.' The smile disappeared from Hermione's face like the bright wings of a butterfly descending into weeds.

'It was tough losing my only competition like that.' Draco said flatly. Draco was aware that he would like to feel some regret, some emotion about the death of Cedric Diggory, so that he might share an emotion with Hermione. But Cedric's murder was for Draco, just an interesting end to an otherwise boring school year. Still, he felt uncomfortable, and itched to discuss something else; the moon, the lake, anything else, but Hermione continued on.

'I didn't think you'd noticed Cedric at all. He wasn't Slytherin after all. All of you Slytherin were so negative about the Hufflepuff champion. And you couldn't even honour him when he died so bravely.'

Hermione recalled the terrible and sad evening when all of Hogwarts stood in the Great Hall, cups in hand to honour their slain hero. How Draco remained seated his face stony, indifferent. The chilling memory was Hermione's most disturbing association with Draco.

'He didn't die bravely,' Draco shot back defensively. 'He was only murdered.' Draco was immediately sorry that the words escaped his lips.

Hermione's face plainly showed her distress at the Slytherin's callousness.

'That was not a fair assessment of Cedric's fate,' Draco shrugged, unwilling or more precisely unable to apologize for his unkind words. He felt a panic rising within. 'Kept me on my toes did Cedric,' he blurted out. 'Couldn't go without my beauty sleep or forget to comb this mop with Cedric around for comparison.'

Draco's words were at best a paltry jest and he knew it. The uncertain bits of him wanted to turn and whip it back to the castle, but his pride required he stay. But it was Draco's good fortune that Hermione was willing to take his ill at ease manner as a sign the self-centred boy was showing some sign of regret for his callousness - something she had from afar she would ever see in him.

'Now Draco, your hair is no mop.' She tugged gently at his fringe. 'It is surprising really, far more like angel's floss than something that would go on the head of someone named for a dragon.'

Hermione still sounded as if her spirits were still a bit dampened.

'My hair is as shiny as dragon scales, wouldn't you say?' Draco held up a long lock of silvery fringe.

'If that is true it is the only thing about your looks that looks anything at all like a dragon.' Hermione attempted a smile.

Draco slipped a hand behind Hermione's back and pulled her to his chest. 'Dragons are dangerous and I'm sorry to say, rough around their edges; and sometimes dragon's run their mouths more than their brains - "Petals".'

He leaned as close as he dared to her face and puzzling over just what the witch might be thinking and like a hunting dragon he sucked her breath into his nostrils and found his own breath coming suddenly unsteady.

Spicy but sweet - heavenly sweet.

'You don't mind if I call you Petals? A little pet name just between the two of us?' he asked as if he had any intention whatever of calling her by her given name. 'You know, I'm called Draco because I'm all flames inside like a Dragon. Hot.'

He squeezed her even tighter, causing her to gasp uncomfortably. The girl's twinge of discomfort excited Draco and he stared into her eyes, consciously and somewhat maliciously waiting for some hint of distress, but she was in fact, quite relaxed.

Draco smiled. He parted his lips and with his exhalation of warm breath, a dart of blue-white flame leapt through his white teeth, accompanied by a sharp crack, like a twig being broken. Hermione squealed and Draco could feel a shock run through her like electricity - it greatly excited him.

Hermione stared at him through wide eyes. 'Draco, how did you...?'

'Do what? Told you. I'm all flame inside.' Whatever the explanation, whatever the magic, Draco was not easily going to give up this particular secret, which was so closely tied into his heart.

Leaning against Hermione heavily, he placed his lips gently against the red crescents of her mouth, their lips barely making contact. Hesitant, looked into her hazel eyes and admired the glints of green, gold and brown within.

I used to curse this half-blood witch - what the hell was I thinking?

As if a decision were made, he pressed his lips so tightly against Hermione's that she squeaked through clenched teeth. Gripping Draco's arms, she pushed back against him, in a vain attempt to free herself. She met with a resistance so firm that she might as well have been pushing against the wall. Draco loved resistance and confrontation in all forms, and this was his favourite form. He realized that he was turned on by the very fear that was now so detectable in the eyes of his "lover". A little cruelty, if not a lot, was part of his makeup. Draco experimented with subtlety in few aspects of his life.

This isn't right.

He eased up. 'I'm sorry. I...I just got carried away. I didn't mean to bruise you Petals.' Will you forgive me? Please? I'll start over.' The panic rose again.

Don't let me have screwed this up already.

Breathing heavily, and still showing traces of fear, Hermione hesitated, and then nodded.

'I bruised your lip.' Draco licked at a crimson stain on Hermione's lip. His tongue tenderly traced her mouth. Then he kissed her as delicately as if her lips were a soap bubble.

Her eyes shut, Hermione relaxed in Draco's arms, but she did not return his kisses. Although sometimes rash, persistence was one of Draco's virtues. Delicately, he held Hermione, kissing her cheeks and her brow. He pressed his cheek against hers and felt conflicted - thrilled that he was holding her and terrified that he'd already succeeded in alienating her for once and for all time. Hermione hung motionless in his arms, only a slight grip on Draco's forearms and her pervasive warmth to hint she was alive.

This is the last time I get to hold her. All right then, I'll hold her until dawn.

He hugged her, pulling her as close as he dared, but then, what was left to lose? Eyes shut, Draco's nostrils sucked in the scent of her hair.

Yes, still orange blossoms.

There was as small sound, a pitiful little moan which with a pang of anguish, Draco realized must have come from his own throat. His anguish was rapidly replaced with a thrill that jolted him to his core - Hermione's arms were tightening. Suddenly she was hungrily pressing her lips on his, and pulling herself tighter still into his arms. The witch had come to a decision. She gripped a fistful of Draco's hair as if to keep herself from slipping away, but then it was already too late - she had fallen.

Feeling a rush that reminded him of the sensations he felt when he power-dived on his racing broom, Draco hungrily sucked at Hermione's lips. When he dared to, his tongue slipped deep into her mouth, sweeping nimbly about like a hummingbird's tongue within his "Petals".

Draco actually squeaked, feeling embarrassment as he heard and felt Hermione breathing in great gasps, and felt her arch her back, pressing her stomach and the delight bits of her that dwelt south of that point, against his. It was the singularly most exciting thing he had ever felt and instantly, all attempts at gentlemanly and maidenly behaviour was off and some sort of biological race was on.

The two wriggled and writhed tightly against each other, Hermione now fighting to stick her tongue down Draco's throat. They enjoyed a lively battle as each fought for control, and the honour of giving the other as much pleasure as the other could stand. Hermione wasn't the only one giggling and Draco wasn't the only one groaning with joy. It was a fair match as the two struggled happily.

Nearby, Fang sat on his haunches, quizzically watching the pair as he tried to make sense of the small moans and delighted squeals of pleasure emitted by the lively snogging couple. That last time Fang had given into such behaviour - with a certain shaggy great bitch in Hogsmeade, Hagrid had doused them both with a bucket of icy water. Perhaps the hound was musing over the puzzling judgments of humans when a sound caught Fang's ear and the hound leapt up and gave a warning bark.

A voice shouted 'LUMOS!'

A beam of white light hit Draco eyes and his pupils shrunk to tiny black dots in a grey pool - he could see nothing but a wall of light. He became furious. As for Hermione, she yelped and buried her face against Draco's chest. Draco held up his hand to block the light and squinted, anxious to see whom it was that he planned to murder - preferably by impalement on a dull and rusty butter knife.

Draco pulled his wand from a trouser pocket. 'LUMOS!' Pointing his wand angrily, through the glaring light he could make out the rapidly advancing silhouette of another young man, who was marched stiffly forward. The other fellow's face was gradually revealed - a dark and murderous - and belonging to Ron Weasley.

'What are you doing there?' Ron angrily demanded, his voice shaking with fury as he held up his wand high.

'Hello Weasel-ley,' Draco drawled lazily as he easily slipped into his natural element - sarcasm. 'As usually you have things backwards - it is I who ought to be asking you that question. It is my privacy - I mean, "our" privacy - that has been violated. Run along. I think I hear your Potter calling you.'

His fists clenched, Ron shook with fury and ignored Draco as he shot forward. 'Hermione? Are you all right? Has this, this lout, has he... hurt you?'

'No, Ron, no, I'm quite all right.' Hermione answered in a very small and embarrassed voice. Then she continued with a note of stressed urgency, 'Thank you for your concern Ron, but go away!'

Ron was now alongside the still mutually wrapped couple - holding his lighted wand over the pair he stared at them in disbelief. In a puzzled, agitated voice he called spoke to Hermione as though Draco was five paces down the road. 'Hermione, you want to be with Malfoy?'

'Yes, that ought to be glaringly obvious even to you, Weasley,' said Draco in his maddenly cool voice. 'I am having a tidy little snog with my girl here, and we don't appreciate having your juvenile interruption. Go away.'

'Ron! Honest, I'm here on my own free will,' Hermione called to Ron. She wished that Harry were around, not that she needed one more angry boy to deal with, but because she could count on Harry stopping Ron, who looked about ready to spring. 'Stop spying on us. Go back to the castle, I'm fine. Really.'

Ron did not budge. He aimed his gleaming wand, purposely pointing the beam onto Draco's face.

Draco gritted his teeth.

Screw the rusty butter knife. I'm going to murder him with my bare hands.

'Ron, PUT THE LIGHT OUT!' Hermione ordered.

Ron spoke softly, still seeming unaware that Draco was even closer at hand than Hermione.

'Hermione, what are you doing?'

'Ron, please. Go back towards the castle. I'll be along shortly.'

'Draco...?' asked Hermione.

'Draco? It's Draco is it?' demanded Ron, now acknowledging Draco's presence. 'You put a spell on her, didn't you Malfoy?'

'No spell Weasley,' snarked Draco, 'just a little charm.'

'Ron, please!' said Hermione, as if it was he who had just been rude. She was already regretting her decision to leave Draco and go with Ron. She whispered frantically to Draco, breathing heavily and hoping Ron had not noticed.

'Draco - Ron and I are friends. He doesn't understand... this. I want to walk with him back to the castle for a little talk. This is awkward, but you don't mind?'

Draco sighed with annoyance but answered softly. 'Of course I do not mind. I can take Fang back to Hagrid's for you.'

By now, no doubt, you probably realize that what Draco said was not what Draco wanted to say. He wanted to say, 'Step back, Petals. I'm going to flatten that red-headed shite, once and for all. A raggedy-arsed Weasel should make a great flobberworm, right?'

You may believe that Draco was thoroughly amazed at himself, that he felt compelled to behave in a manner acceptable to Hermione. He never felt that way around a witch before. If Ron had interrupted a tryst with Messalina, whatever Messalina may have wished, Draco would have blasted Ron into a toadstool before you could say 'Oh dear, that charm didn't' go very well, did it?'

'You are so sweet Draco. Why didn't I ever see that before?' Hermione cooed.

'You were too busy being poisoned against me by your narrow-minded Gryffindor friends. That's why Petals.' Draco cooed back.

'Hello?' came Ron's voice from several yards away.

'I'll see you tomorrow.' Hermione whispered by Draco's cheek. She couldn't quite bring herself to pull back out of his arms. 'Draco. Can I ask you something quick before I go?'

'Sure thing.' Draco said, licking his lips like a dog anticipating a tasty morsel.

'I have wondered since this afternoon. What is that, that, that thing in your mouth?'

'What? My tongue? You have a tongue too, haven't you? A lovely one too. I noticed it at the go.'

'You know what I mean.'

'Oh, you mean this?' Draco opened his mouth and with a wink, flicked out his pink tongue at which centre glittered a round, golden bead. 'It's a tongue stud. Do you fond of what I have managed to do with it to entertain you so far?'

'Um... yes. I did rather notice it,' said Hermione, annoyed for a blush had come over her cheeks. 'I am only surprised to discover that wizards wear such things.'

'Wizards do not - generally, but I do. I don't reject good ideas, even if they are Muggle.'

Hermione giggled softly. 'Draco... um, what's it for? I mean, besides for tickling my tonsils.'

'You'll find out - eventually. I hope. It might surprise you too that I have a really lovely tattoo. Guess what the tattoo is and I will show it to you.'

'Draco....'

'You win, it's a dragon! Ditch the Weasel and I'll let you touch the dragon's tail.'

Hermione lowered her eyes shyly. 'Draco, next time we really ought to meet some place more private than the great outdoors.'

'Perhaps the Astronomy tower? Everyone goes there for a snog - you have to queue up on Saturday nights.'

Hermione looked absolutely crestfallen. 'I must go Draco. I really ought to have a chat with Ron.'

Draco was greatly disappointed that his "Petals" insisted on leaving, but the evening had otherwise been a complete success. Draco pulled Hermione close and playfully whispered into her ear.

'Before you trot off Petals, I have homework for you. I happen to know that you love homework, don't you? Tonight while you lie naked in your bed-'

'I do not sleep naked,' interrupted Hermione.

'Well, you ought. But anyway, when you lie in your four-poster tonight, you must think of what fascinating places on your person I can do this.' Draco flicked his tongue in Hermione's ear. 'And what lovely places on your person might I possibly kiss,' Draco took his time giving Hermione a lingering kiss. Then abruptly, he released Hermione from his arms, nearly dropping the witch to the ground.

Marching off, Draco called out, 'Fang! Here dog, come along.' He headed towards Hagrid's hut. Fang leapt up, his tail wagging, as he obediently trotted after Draco. The boy and the dog were out of sight before Hermione could tear her eyes away from Draco's receding figure. She headed back and by the time she reached Ron, she was simply ready to murder him.

'Ron,' Hermione said as patiently as she could manage. 'I thought you were supposed to be off polishing bed pans tonight?'

Clearly hurt by Hermione's abruptness and unnecessarily rude question, Ron responded a little angrily.

'Don't change the subject Hermione. You just ran off and disappeared tonight, didn't you? "Don't mind me; I'm only off to walk Fang." Right. How long does it take to walk the world's laziest dog? When you didn't come back within the hour I thought you must be in trouble; came round to find you.' In a disgusted voice Ron added, 'I was right, you were in trouble though you seem to be the only one who don't know it!' Ron glared angrily at the spot in the distance so recently vacated by Draco, but his efforts to make Hermione feel guilty did not seem to be working well at all.

They slowly moved toward the castle progressing up the grassy turf. Hermione spoke.

'It's rather nippier out than I'd noticed before when Draco and I were...' As soon as the words were spoken she realized their implications and that such were obviously not what Ron was prepared to deal with.

'Here.' Ron removed his windcheater and against Hermione's protestations, placed the jacket over her shoulders. He held both the jacket and his arms against her back for longer than necessary. Then, on impulse, he took her hand and began to walk again.

'Ron.' Hermione began timidly, as she wriggled her hand as if unsure if pulling away might be misconstrued as being rude. 'Let's be honest Ron. You know that I love you...'

Ron's head whipped around frantically. Hermione could see that his face looked desperate, full of despair but to her shame, she realized she just didn't care.

'...like a brother,' Hermione said loudly, emphasizing "brother'. 'You know I love Harry too. We are been like three peas in a pod. Truly we have.'

'Love me like a brother?' Ron repeated in deep agitation, 'three peas in a sodding pod? Yes, well that's fine. Just fine! I'm glad that you took the time to inform me of your new... new... fling.' He waved an arm in Draco's general direction. 'I suppose I ought to be grateful that I didn't read about your little romance in a 'stop the presses' announcement from Rita Skeeter, or heard it from a bunch of giggling girls in the Great Hall or some corridor.'

'Ron, I'm fifteen now, soon to be sixteen. You can't expect me to be satisfied just puppy-dogging around with you and Harry forever. Be sensible Ron. What is wrong with a little romance?'

'That was a little romance? You, and that, that...Malfoy?' Again he gestured but this time in no general direction at all, his arms waving in the air. 'What's wrong with you? You know how evil that git is! If you are attracted to him then he's put a hex on you, or else you've gone mental.' He stared at her eyes intently, as if looking for Hermione, not the naïve girl he believed stood before him. Ron dropped Hermione's hand. Ron turned abruptly and made about 15 steps before he heard Hermione's voice, furiously calling out into the still night air, behind his back.

'PETRIFICUS TOTALLIS!'

Hit by the Full Body Bind, Ron froze mid step as his legs snapped together. He fell forward like a loose fence board - WHAM - landing face down on the damp sod.

'Ron I know that was dirty pool, of me to do while your back was turned. But I am exceedingly...I'm very... I am quite cross!'

That Hermione was "quite cross" was woefully obvious to Ron.

Hermione stomped up to Ron, bending over him. Gripping him by the shoulder she roughly pulled the redhead onto his back. After taking a minute to rearrange Ron's windcheater about her shoulders, Hermione seated herself on Ron's stomach as if he were a comfy chair. Hermione took a moment to pull Ron's cheek out of the sod so she could look directly into comprehending and startled blue eyes.

'There now,' she said with no small amount of exasperation. 'Listen to me Ron. Really listen. I've had about enough of your self-pitying, stomping around acting as if you have some claim to me. Last year... Yes, last year! You had plenty of time to invite me to the Yule Ball if you wished to, and I would have loved to go with you. Oh, how I lay awake at night wishing you would work up the ballocks to invite me to go to the ball with you! It would have been lovely, really, I mean that.'

Ron's eyeballs jiggled in agitated hysteria, but he was incapable of speech.

Hermione tapped Ron on his freckled nose.

'Do pay attention! I would have loved to go to the Ball with you, but oh no! You were dead certain I was going to the ball alone because no one would possibly invite plain-Jane, frumpy "Hermione the know-it-all" anywhere, not even to a dog-fight! You thought I was lying when I told you and Harry, I already had a date. Ron you were cruel - thoughtless.'

Yes, Hermione was on a roll.

'And when you found out I was at the Ball with Victor Krum, you were tactless. Mean spirited.' she paused for dramatic effect. 'So then did you tell me how you felt about me? For that matter, was tonight any different from last year? Someone else dared to show an interest in me and all you could do was throw a wobbly!'

Hermione stood. After some consideration, she pointed her wand at Ron.

'I have a life Ron Bilius Weasley. And if you wish to be in my life as something other than a dear friend, this is your last chance, though with all honesty, I can not truly say that your words will make much difference now.' With that last bit of introspection, Hermione removed the paralyzing curse from Ron.

The wicked charm released, Ron laid quietly for a minute or two, then sat up and pulling off his trainers, began to massage his feet, which had gone to sleep. He looked as peaceful as if he was back in the dorms, sitting on his four-poster. He ignored Hermione.

On the assumption that Ron was mulling over what she'd said, Hermione waited patiently, but after several minutes she spoke. 'Ron, are you alright?' She queried with genuine concern. 'You fell rather heavily, are you hurt?'

Ron stood and shook out his arms and legs. He looked over to Hermione.

'Right. You can leave my windcheater in the common room. Don't want you handing it back at breakfast and giving anyone the wrong idea.' Ron turned and stomped off.

'Right then.' said Hermione, her voice somewhat tight. She turned and walked back in the direction of Hagrid's Hut.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that evening, Ron crashed through his dorm room door and marching up to Harry's four-poster curtains was annoyed to see Harry was apparently asleep. Ron took Harry by the shoulders and nearly shook poor the poor boy to pieces in an effort to wake him.

'HARRY WAKE UP!'

'Ron. RON!' Harry woke screaming. 'Ron, Ron. RON!' Harry shouted. 'Stop, you're shaking me to bits! Stop it! What are you on about?'

Now he knew Harry was awake, Ron paced the floor, back and forth; ranting at such a fever pitch that Harry could scarcely keep up with Ron's words. The only clues to the topic of 'discussion' was Ron's occasional reference to 'That fecking Slytherin skum-bag' and 'that witch.'

Harry sat up in his bed, looking tired and extremely annoyed. There never seemed to be any excitement in the dorm unless he had to get up early the following morning.

'Am I wrong? I mean, there was that slimy Malfoy pawing her, and her standing there, liking it or something... and acting like she'd been hit in the head with a 'Dumb-Down' spell, all gooey voiced... letting that toley wanking twat kiss her!'

'Kiss who?' asked Harry, rubbing his scar. The pain was subsided, but left a splitting headache in its wake. Harry hadn't even bothered to sit up yet.

'Harry wake up and smell the pumpkin juice! Hermione was practically having it off with Malfoy, down by the lake!'

'What?' Harry sat up. 'You're mental. Start over again and keep it down, they're all asleep.' He meant Neville, Dean and Seamus.

'Having it off?' The sleepy voice of Dean came from behind the curtains of a four-poster on the other side of the round room. 'Who is having it off? Here?'

'Go back to sleep Dean,' called Harry. 'Go on Ron. Keep your voice down.'

'Like it's anyone's business but my own, so you buggers shut it,' snarled Seamus from his four-poster. 'Bloody hell, can't a lad wank-off around here in peace?'

Across from Seamus' bed, in his own four-poster, Neville broke into a fit of laughter.

'You lot! Knock it off.' Harry called to the boys. 'Plug your ears.' Harry yawned widely and pushed himself to a sitting position. 'Damn it, Ron, what is it with you and Hermione?'

Harry was not in the mood for listening to Ron's never-ending complaints about Hermione. Harry had guessed something was up with her and Malfoy, but he reckoned it was Hermione's business and that was that. Why couldn't Ron understand that?

Ron bellowed on, 'You know I went to find Hermione.'

'Didn't I tell you not to go crashing after her?' Harry yawned so hard his head shook. 'Didn't I?'

'Well, she was lost or something, wasn't she?'

'She was? Lost? Can't find her way around the grounds after four years here? How lame is that Ron?'

'Never mind, don't you hear me? At the lake just now, Hermione was with that fen-sucking, sheep-shagger Malfoy - having a SNOG!'

'And?' asked Harry, suppressing a grin. He realized laughing was a much better option than feeling scandalized by Hermione's taste in wizards.

'What do you mean and?' Ron rounded on Harry.

'Yes, well I mean, if she chooses to snog the slimy git, it's her affair. Probably wants to "walk on the wild side" for a bit. Hermione can take care of herself. G' Night Ron.'

Harry attempted to lie back down, but Ron angrily grabbed Harry's pyjama top and pulled back to a sitting position. Harry had never known Ron to be so worked up about anything. Not even the time Ron thought Hermione's cat Crookshanks had eaten Ron's one-time pet rat Scabbers.

'You've slipped off your cracker Harry! You should have seen them! That smarmy... Oh! And after I chased Malfoy away...'

'You chased Malfoy away?' Harry reached for his glasses. The conversation was finally picking up in interest. 'Malfoy pulled his wand on you?'

'Almost. I gave Hermione my windcheater, and what did she do? I took her hand and...'

'Ron, you DOG you,' shouted Seamus, who was not inclined to miss out on great gossip. 'Taking a girl's hand right there by the lake in front of God and everybody? You ought to be horse-whipped Ron!'

'Dry up Seamus!' Ron and Harry chimed together.

Ron ranted on. 'I started to bring Hermione back to the castle and she pulled her wand on me Harry! Like she did Neville first year, Petrificus Totalus, just like that.' Ron waited for Harry to look suitably shocked. Harry didn't look at all shocked; weary yes, shocked, no. Ron shrugged, 'She knocked me out and sat on me'

'Sat on you? Ron, you are the MAN,' shouted Seamus. 'And everyone saying there was NO hope for you what-so-ever!'

'Dry up Seamus!' chorused Ron and Harry.

'Then what did 'mione do?' asked Harry, rubbing his achy temples.

'She... she told me... stuff. And then she released me from the spell and I came back here.' Ron lost some of the wild edge to his voice. 'Harry, she doesn't know what she's doing. She can't like that git Malfoy. I mean, she knows we all hate him, right?' Ron now sounded thoughtful and hopelessly dejected. 'Why would she let Malfoy kiss her? Like THAT?'

'A real "bad boy" that Malfoy's is,' shouted Dean from behind the curtains of his four-poster. 'And the girl's LOVE them! Trust me. I have sisters and scads of girl cousins. The worse the boy, the more they fling themselves after the bastards. Mark my word that Malfoy is a first-class bad boy and at the rate he's going the bloke'll have it off with half the girls at Hogwarts.'

Everyone except Ron snickered.

'Hell,' snorted Seamus between fits of laughing. 'That Malfoy's such a devil, he'll probably have it off with half the boys at Hogwarts to boot!'

Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus laughed until they were giddy.

Ron looked thoroughly disgusted. He stomped over to his trunk, and changed into his pyjamas.

'Ron,' asked Harry, 'so why did Hermione knock you down? What was that all about?'

'Nothing.' answered Ron.

'Please, do I look like I was born around tea time today? Just a minute.' Harry leapt out of bed and began to rummage in his trunk. 'I can't believe I'm still hungry. The mincemeat tarts your Mum sent me... where are they? Yes, here we go!' Harry rummaged a bit more and then returned to his four-poster with a folded tea towel.

Harry cajoled Ron, 'Come on, just this once let me be your Agony Aunt. Who knows? Maybe Uncle Harry can make it all better for ickle Ronny.'

'Feck off Harry.' Ron stood for several minutes looking frustrated. But finally he fetched a chair and plopped it down by Harry's four-poster. Sitting on the backwards chair, chin on the chair back, Ron sighed, his face a study of utter misery. 'Harry.' Ron whispered, 'This won't go any farther than the two of us?'

'Get off it Ron. No such hope with that lot listening in,' Harry said with a quick gesture towards the other beds from which could be heard Neville's snores and a few strange noises coming from Seamus's curtained bed. 'Neville's asleep already, Dean's trying to sleep and... SEAMUS... is too busy choking a chicken to pay us any mind. What's to lose?' Harry took a huge bite out of his mincemeat tart.

Ron looked resigned. 'For fuck's sake, it's like this mate...'

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The following morning, Harry sat in the Gryffindor Commons, sleepily playing a solitary round of wizard's chess. Earlier Ron offered to play a round with Harry, probably form guilt over his own late night ranting. But Harry said he was just feeling off, and preferred a little solitude. Harry sent Ron off to breakfast alone, with assurances that he would be along after a while if he felt better. With Ron gone, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and by the time Hermione came down from the girl's dorms, most of the Gryffindor students were already off to breakfast.

'Hermione,' Harry called. 'Can we have a word? It's important.'

Hermione marched stiffly up to Harry, looking thoroughly burned. 'I don't know what Ron told you about last night but-'

'No worries Hermione, it's all right. I'm on your side. Honest.'

Hermione looked surprised and testily asked, 'and so you think you have a clue as to what my side is?'

'Maybe not,' said Harry, aware the witch's temper was at the edge. 'Come on, sit. Give it a minute. I have something you'll find interesting.'

Hermione sat across from Harry, eyeing him with a look of deep suspicion. 'All right. But just for a little bit. I could murder a steak this morning I am that hungry.'

Harry muttered under his breath, 'No kidding?' as he dug into his school robe pockets. 'Here you are. See?' He held out a tiny box to Hermione. 'Last night I finally got Ron to cough up how he feels about you! I used a MS High Memory PC. Finally, the great mystery of the century is solved; what does Ron truly think about you? Here. Now you'll know just how Ron feels about you.'

Harry sat back proudly. He had looked forward to telling her so, and was surprised that she did not fling her arms around him in gratitude or at least not look like she was about have a hand at smacking him.

Hermione stood up. 'When I hear it from that git's own mouth, then I'll know. If Ron can't stand up for what he wants or believes in, then the devil take him.' Hermione took a step but Harry leapt up and grabbed her sleeve.

'Hermione, just listen.' Harry couldn't believe that Hermione was rejecting the information he was offering. 'You know Ron hasn't got the ego of a dish of milk sop. He can't help it he's a pillock.'

'Well...' Hermione sat back down; her arms drooped on her lap. 'Since you paint such a pretty picture.' She looked tired and fed up - a tough sell. 'And where did you get a Magical Systems High Memory Pachyderm Charm? MS High Memory PC's are hard to come by.'

'Hogsmeade, a year ago. You were there too. Forgot? Anyway, I got Ron's whole "confession" on this thing.'

Harry wondered why he put his foot into such a touchy area - the Ron and Hermione conundrum. Why didn't he just take up something easier, like raising dragons beneath his four-poster for fun and profit? Harry opened the small round box, removed a small trinket and placed the object on the chessboard.

The trinket was blue enamelled cloisonné elephant; with tiny white tusks at the end of each was a tiny glittering rhinestone. The box was the wizard equivalent of a digital tape recorder.

'Right then 'Cyrano',' said Hermione caustically. 'So. How did you get Ron to agree to this?'

'Ron was pitching a fit last night when he got in. I knew it was going to be a long night, I rummaged for a snack in my trunk I came across this and thought, 'Hello', here's an idea.' Harry pushed the tiny elephant a little closer to Hermione. 'Open it when you're ready. Should I leave?'

'That won't be necessary.' Hermione's hands shook slightly as she snapped open the box, which was perfectly hollow and quite empty. Ron's harried voice floated out on the air.

'For fuck's sake. It's like this mate. You, me, Hermione, all three of us have been friends since we were little buggers first year. Hermione was just another friend to me, like you are, or Neville. More like a sister really.'

Hermione rolled her eyes.

'But last year I realized that I felt kind of... all funny about Hermione. Know? Thought about her all the time, and had... dreams... YOU SAY ONE BLOODY THING SEAMUS AND I'LL FECKIN' KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!

Anyway, you know Harry. It was like waking up and finding out that I had the hots for Ginny - I mean, my baby sister or the hots for my mum or something.'

'You're a sick fuck Ron!'

'DRY UP, SEAMUS!'

'Anyway, Harry, how could I possibly explain that to Hermione?'

There was a silence so long that Hermione looked up and started to speak, but Harry held up his hand to stop her. Ron's anguished voice started up again.

'And her taste in blokes - Lockhart? That fucking useless gilded git'

Hermione snorted angrily.

'That was just a little crush I know that. Then she went for the one-eye browed wonder - Krum. That was bad enough. But no, that lot wasn't awful enough, so what now? She's throwing herself at Malfoy!'

'THROWING myself?' Hermione stood up, and stamped her foot so hard that three chess pieces bounced off the table.

'Shush. Sit!' commanded Harry. Hermione angrily plopped back down in her chair.

'Hermione knows we all hate Malfoy and everything those slimey Slytherin stand for. Why doesn't she just marry 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' and have done with it?'

'That's unfair Ron.'

'Is it? She has a go sucking spit with the school's worst - that elitist, candy floss-headed, stone-eyed, albino bunny-coloured, Dark Mark kissing, Gryffindor-baiting, Hagrid stabbing, dog punching, duckling killing, Death Eater wannabe ...'

Hermione reached over and snapped the box shut. 'Well, Ron exaggerates a bit, wouldn't you say?'

'Um, no. No, not really.' answered Harry honestly.

'Ron is immature. I'm like his sister? That's sweet, I suppose.'

'Sweet? Don't ever call him sweet to his face.' begged Harry. 'I would have to listen to it for the rest of my life.'

'Harry, really. Ron has five brothers! Charlie is too cool, so is Bill. The twins are savvy about girls - too savvy. All right, mind - Percy is a twit but at least Percy has a girl, Penelope Clearwater. But how can Ron have five normal, red-blooded, red-headed brothers and a marvellous father, and none of them, not ONE of them has managed to set Ron to rights about birds, bees and things?'

Harry shrugged. 'Slow bloomer?'

'DEAD bloomer is more like it,' Hermione snorted.

'Don't you see Hermione? Ron's brothers are just the point. He's had to live up to them all his life. Imagine being at the tail end of a lot of red-haired wonders? Is it any wonder Ron hasn't any confidence?'

'Harry. I love you. I love Ron. You two are like... no, you are my brothers. Harry. If there was any chance that I could change my feelings about Ron... Let's just say there's no point to any of this discussion - especially now.'

'Why?'

'Harry, between you and me - it's too late. I am in love with Draco Malfoy.' Hermione sat bolt upright and her hazel eyes softened like butter under a tropical sun while Harry's own eyes bugged open.

'Harry, honestly. Draco is evolving. He's not the nasty little boy he was when we started school.'

'Right then. He's doing a damned good imitation of a nasty little boy!'

'No Harry. Draco is matured. Thoughtful. I know he's Slytherin, and perhaps a bit power mad, but so what? Just achieving power doesn't make anyone evil. Well, does it? What if Mr. Weasley is put in charge of the Ministry of Magic some day? That wouldn't automatically make him evil would it then?'

Harry looked startled. 'That's stupid Hermione. We're not talking 'wants to run the Postal office' ambition, we're talking "Death Eater, Dark Mark and Fuck-the-World" ambition. Draco Malfoy and his sort run for Supreme Ruler of the Universe. He'll squash whatever gets in his way. He'll squash you when he gets round to it.'

'You're wrong. Mal... Draco wouldn't do that, and he is not a Death Eater wannabe.'

'Hermione...' Harry decided to change tactics. 'Malfoy is flunking Potions.'

'Not now he isn't and besides, he made one poor choice on one exam. So what? That was a conscious choice of rebellion. And besides, he'll have his grades back to rights by Halloween. He is very intelligent. And besides...' Hermione looked down for a minute, and when she looked back up her cheeks were flaming. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. 'Harry.' She leaned forward, 'Draco is dead sexy. Have you seen him in his black leather trousers or when he wears those...'

'NO!' Harry jumped up out of his chair. He looked ill.

'Oh, as if you hadn't noticed - even the older level girls are starting to fall all over when Draco's around. He could be shagging... I mean, snogging... any witch he fancies, but he... he likes me Harry. He did a lot of growing during the summer. You must have noticed.'

'Growing? Where? And how would you know?' Harry was annoyed that he was suddenly sounding a bit like Ron on a rant.

Hermione ignored Harry's comments. 'All I'm saying is that Ron could take lessons from Malfoy. All of the boys could really. Even you.' Hermione seemed to snap out of a dreamy stupor. 'Harry? May I take the PC and listen to the rest of it later?'

'Uh...No actually. It gets sort of... um... Ron goes on to talk about why he... um... likes you and maybe under the circumstances you ought not to hear it.' Harry snatched up the little box and shifted it into his robe pocket. 'Let's get some breakfast. And let's keep this discussion just between us, OK?'

'Fine with me Harry. This was all a waste of time. I already know what I want.'