Draco's Delicate Condition

Chapter 10 - The Fireball's Stand

Monday morning Draco skulked outside the Slytherin Commons. He had a small task to perform and to that end, he waited impatiently, and with great irritation. Impatient and irritated was not a good combination for Draco, and he grew edgier by the minute. He leaned against the wall by the commons door. The door opened occasionally as sleepy eyed and barely awake students, whipped by a weekend of fun, headed off to break their fast in the Great Hall.

A group of Slytherin witches walked out of the commons, one with long brown hair. Draco darted out. He whipped the girl around, her thick chestnut hair flying, as she found herself facing the grey-eyed boy. She looked at Draco with wide-eyed bewilderment, more than a little shell-shocked that the infamous Captain Draco Malfoy even knew she was alive. Draco dropped his tight grip on her arm, apologized brusquely and returned to his post by the wall. The fourth year girl, giggling merrily with her friends, continued on to breakfast. They'd talk about the little incident for days on end before they tired of it.

Draco sunk against the wall. The rather abrupt interaction of accosting the unknown brown haired girl was fun. He missed those sorts of dealings, behaving as though it was his birthright to shove others around. More than that, he missed the feeling of being in control over a situation. It had been a long time since he felt that he had control over anything. Nowadays he felt he was teetering on the cauldron's edge. Draco spotted Crabbe and Goyle.

"Morning, Crabbe, Goyle."

The boys looked up in surprise. They thought Draco had gone to breakfast ages ago, but then lately he didn't tell them much of his doings. Goyle couldn't have cared less, but Crabbe missed Draco. There was no direction for Crabbe without Draco around to tell him off, tell him where to go and why to go there.

"Why weren't you two at team practice this morning? You're not on the team but you can always run with us, show off your 'stuff'. I keep telling you there's plenty of witch opportunities out there." Draco winked. "You two could have found yourself waltzing up to breakfast a couple of fair lookers on your arms."

"Go on," said Crabbe smiling. He was a morning kind of brute.

Goyle wasn't good whatever the time of day. Goyle gave Draco a distrustful look, which Draco ignored. He noted that Goyle still hated his guts, even though he'd wager good Galleons that Goyle hadn't the faintest idea why he no longer liked Draco. Goyle's slow mind was under Messalina's control now so the large boy, as usual, wasn't thinking for himself. That was the problem with having mindless minions. They were so damned... damned, mindless.

"Coming?" Crabbe asked Draco. The light of intelligence never glittered in Crabbe's eyes, although affability did and Draco appreciated him for it.

"No mates, some business. I'll be along in a bit."

"Right," said Crabbe. Goyle gave Draco a sullen look and grunted. The two went on to breakfast.

Many other Slytherin came and went from the commons and still Draco waited. Eventually the door swung open and a half dozen or so students strolled out. His eyes narrowed like a hunting wolf, Draco spied his target. He merged with the group as though he was headed for breakfast with them. He even spoke to one of the boys, idle chatter about the expected weather for the day, maybe snow. As the group approached the stairwell to climb up to the first floor, Draco nabbed a brown-haired girl from behind, covering her mouth and tightly gripping her arm, he rapidly pulled her into a side corridor.

The brown-haired witch bit into Draco's fleshy palm with strength and the tenacity of a terrier. Draco clamped his jaws tightly shut as he quickly dragged the girl down the long side corridor that ended in a caretaker's storage closet. He shoved the girl roughly into the room so forcefully, the witch had to throw out her arms to keep from hitting the wall opposite the door.

Draco slammed the door and bellowed "DAMN YOU ZABINI, YOU MASTIFF!" He stood wildly shaking his bitten hand.

"Draco Malfoy. You get out of my way," Messalina reached for her wand.

Draco pulled his wand with his uninjured hand.

"Expelliarmus!"

Messalina's wand flew from her grip, neatly caught by Draco with his injured hand. With his good hand he pointed his wand at the light sconce, lit the small dank room and pocketed both wands. The candlelight flickered and orange and red lights danced maliciously in Messalina's beautiful eyes. With a malevolent grin he pinned Messalina back against the wall as he had done in the Slytherin Commons back in September.

I really miss this sort of thing.

Even in the dim closet, Draco's eyes glinted brightly with excitement, reflecting the light from a sconce shining above Messalina. The light shining down on the girl made dark shadows under her eyes. She knew the lighting did not flatter her, and the though made her already dodgy temperament, volatile.

"Now Messie, I told you once before..."

"Don't call me Messie and take your hands off me you albino git." Messalina angrily swatted at Draco who grabbed the wrist of the offending hand and squeezed it tightly enough to make the girl squeal.

"Ow, you vile... let go!" she spat like a cornered alley cat. "I'll going tell Greggers what you..."

"Yes, thanks for bringing that up, that's why we're here - Gregory Goyle." Draco said with more calm than he felt. "You're still toying with Goyle, to get at me. I've already told you, if you've problems with me, then come to me. Don't think I'm going to stand idle while you misuse my mates."

Draco dropped Messalina's wrist and forcefully twirled her to face the wall. He pulled her right arm behind her and lifted it up, until the girl gasped in anticipation of pain. Draco surmised that his bit hand caused him more pain than he gave to Messalina, and he was correct.

"Deal with me Mess. Why is that so hard for you to understand? Would a diagram help?"

"Everything is about you then?" Messalina said sarcastically. "Goyle gets the girl; it must be all about Captain bloody Malfoy? Your parents may have led you to believe the world revolves around your little wants and needs, but..."

"Shut your gob girl." Draco pushed himself up against Messalina's back, pressing the angry girl closer to the cold stonewall. Messalina quickly turned her face to save it being pushed into the stone. Chuckling cruelly, Draco pressed himself wicked hard against the girl's back and pressed his cheek against Messalina's. They looked as though someone glued them together. Draco enjoyed the familiar and pleasurable and uplifting sensation in his trousers and continued to chastise his irate captive.

"Sometimes I think every witch in this miserable excuse for a school is deaf. You are going to drop Goyle today, and do so with such style, the boy will think you are doing him a favor."

"Don't you tell me what to...!" Messalina squeaked as Draco applied a faint touch of upward pressure on the girl's arm.

"You stubborn witch. I must say, I did not look forward to this meeting," Draco shoved his hips heavily against Messalina with a loud, self-satisfied moan. "But actually it's turning out to be rather a pleasure."

Messalina kicked a foot backwards with the force of an iron shod yearling filly, catching Draco sharply in the ankle with a heel. She smiled at the sound of Draco's pained yelp. "My affairs are not your business Malfoy!"

"Your 'affairs' - first-rate choice of words." Holding one foot off the ground like a wounded dog, Draco pressed himself harder still against Messalina. He did so in part to make his point and annoy her, but also because it felt so undeniably satisfying. He growled in Messalina's ear, "Do you know, I saw you in the back room at the Three Brooms, swapping spit with that flaming Gryffindor arse-hole. The pair of you hadn't the modesty of hares in March. Does 'Greggers' know about your ongoing difficulties with the concept of 'monogamy'? Should I spell monogamy for you?"

"Malfoy you are so going to pay for this," Messalina hissed. She twisted her head further around to stare into Draco's eyes. It was as though she could remember other moments when she and Draco were so close they could each suck in the other's moist breath. She half lowered her eyes as she looked at Draco's mouth, as in contemplation of a kiss. Looking at the moist ruby lips, Draco inched his mouth laterally towards Messalina's slightly parted mouth. He pressed his mouth against hers and shut his eyes momentarily.

The first thing that amazed Draco was how Messalina's lips so differed from Hermione's lips. Hermione's lips were as moist and suckable as orange slices. There was always a taste of oranges about kissing the girl. As Draco settled his lips firmly against Messalina's his thoughts were centered on whether Petals actually ate oranges by the sack full or if he was right in supposing the delicious scent was natural to her. He thought how suited to the personality of the girl in his arms was Messalina's scent - an herbal scent like an astringent potion.

The second thing that amazed Draco was the shock of Messalina biting down on his lower lip with piranha like force. He screamed and jerked backwards which only resulted in additional damage as the soft tissue yielded enough blood splashing down his chin to perform a satisfactory Scelerus curse. Leaping about, Draco sucked on his lip and felt ill at the taste of his own blood on an empty stomach.

"You flaming Flesh-Eating Slug!" yelped Draco bleeding profusely. He sucked on his bloodied lip as he darted after Messalina who leapt towards the door. Draco darted grabbing her by the arm and shoving her back against the wall. Angrily he twisted her arm back up and this time felt evil satisfaction as the girl whimpered.

He pushed himself against the small of Messalina's back to keep her teeth at bay. He noted with grim appreciation that the girl looked beautiful in her anger, the way red and yellow beads look lovely until you back up and realize that you are staring at the skin of a poisonous Gila Monster. Draco decided to end the clandestine meeting quickly, before he bled to death.

"You know Mess, for all I care you can play tonsil hockey with your Gryffindor maggot until muggles grow wings. No doubt your precious Gryffindor cares a great deal about you - hiding you away in the rear of the Three Broomsticks like the dirty little secret you are for so many poor sods. Doesn't want his precious Gryffindor mates to know he's sniffing after Slytherin twat."

Messalina gasped, "Shut your filthy mouth Malfoy!" Draco's Machiavellian way with words still had the power to astound the girl. "My Gryffindor boyfriend loves me and what's more, I love him."

"Lying wench," Draco gingerly took Messalina's ear in his teeth, gripping until the thwarted girl snarled like a trapped wolverine. Happily, there existed no restriction on Malfoy manners about administering love bites, although no doubt, something other than love inspired Draco's sadistic nibble. "Who loves whom is not my problem. Goyle doesn't know you play games. He's an innocent, after a fashion. No one remains too innocent after you get your claws into them."

"Are you protecting the mates of your Gryffindor girlfriend too?" Messalina protested.

Draco dropped her arm and swung Messalina around to face him. Again he shoved her back against the wall, and pushed up against her. He gave a sinful smile as he shoved his hips against the girl who in response to Draco's insistent groin grinding, bared her teeth like a wild thing. Draco noted that Messalina's excellent bosom was still where it had always been; the twins heaved petulantly under her school robes. Draco's attention momentarily wandered as a drop of his own blood fell to stain the robes hiding Messalina's bosom.

"I'm up here!" Messalina snarled.

Draco looked up at Messalina and noted the girl's lip trembling petulantly.

"Oh Draco," Messalina lips broke into a hurt smile. She breathed in a whisper. "You used to care about me."

There were several seconds of silence as Draco stared at Messalina's moist mouth. Finally Draco said slowly, "My former sweet... don't you pull that trembling lip thing on me. You practice that in a mirror. Neither of us ever cared for anyone but ourselves. You know that as sure as you've got two really nice ones - big too, I must say. Mess, the only thing the two of us ever shared and certainly enjoyed was a little slap and tickle."

"That's not true," protested Messalina, the pretty brow furrowing, the blue eyes rapidly darkening.

"No, I really did enjoy the slap and tickle, didn't you? Remember how you used to take your little pink pointy tongue and..." He briefly considered touching his tongue to the blood stain on Messalina's bosom, but decided that such an action would undoubtedly result in getting his ear bitten off.

Messalina riled like a cobra opening its hood. Draco decided to get back on topic.

"Where was I? Yes, Mess, when you and I broke up..."

"You mean when you began dating your Gryffindor witch without bothering to tell your girlfriend? Remember your girlfriend? That would have been me," said Messalina.

"Uh... yes, so you do remember. Your ego was the only thing I hurt. What nerve, you acting the innocent. Did I mention that I knew about you and...? Who was it you were shagging the whole of the time we dated? I lose track of those sort of things so easily."

Messalina opened her mouth to answer, but then her eyes flashed. She quickly shut her mouth.

"Damn me, I almost had you," said Draco with disappointment. "But I suppose, whomever you were 'doing', I hardly cared then and don't care now. Yes, I was kind of rough on you when we were together. It used to be so fun to get you riled up; your little lips trembled; other nice bits of you would quiver and get all jiggly. Oh, I do love jiggly bits on a witch."

Cheekily Draco chucked Messalina under the chin. "Now, assuming you lay off my little family at school here and let Goyle down gently, can we leave here friends?"

Messalina glared at Draco. The boy had obviously taken leave of his senses.

"Do I ask too much?" asked Draco innocently.

A genuine tear leaked from one of Messalina's cornflower blue eyes. "I was not joking Draco. I really did care about you. You were my dragon, and I was your lady."

Messalina's sooty black lashes lowered seductively and then flashed up again to engulf Draco. The boy was momentarily sucked into the illusion and just as he realized the danger, he took a piston-like blow of Messalina's knee to his personal favorite bits. Draco staggered backwards. The kick did not surprise him as much as the fact that he had been stupid enough to drop his guard around the likes of Messalina.

Messalina growled. "Let's have it then."

"You naughty thing!" squeaked Draco in a high-pitched voice. He was doubled over and still dribbling blood from his lip onto the stone floor. "If you wanted to fool around, you ought not have kicked me in my..."

"MY WAND MALFOY!" Messalina was in no mood for Draco's self-amusing routines.

"I knew that."

It took a couple of minutes for Draco to straighten up enough to fish the girl's wand out of his robes. Messalina snatched the wand and headed for the door.

As Messalina opened the door she turned for one backward glance at Draco. The aching boy leaned heavily on the wall, standing upon his one good ankle. He gripped his aching privates, with one raw bitten hand and one good hand.

"Watch yourself Messalina," Draco said in a superior voice, blood still oozing from his shredded lip, staining his chin. "Next time I won't go so easy on you."

~*~*~*~*~*~

With the spider house gone, Potions class was heavenly. All right, it was heaven ruled by a nasty tempered, sour faced, greasy haired, vindictive and snarky git. Still, without the periodic squishy noise of fat spiders plopping to the spiderhouse floor like overripe tomatoes and the stench of the spider droppings, potions was comparatively a heaven.

There was a bit of discord in heaven on this particular day. Slytherin students focused onto a hint of discord in the dungeon classroom in the way owls focus on a squeaking mouse in a moonlit field.

Something was wrong, of that there was no doubt, and as usual the source was Draco and Hermione. Hermione seemed to avoid Draco. She pleaded she had excessive amounts of studying and research to do, excuses that Draco thought was bollocks. For all his Slytherin skill reading body language, Draco knew something was wrong but had no idea what. The boy was just as handy as usual between classes shuffling Hermione into various closets and empty classrooms for the odd gratuitous snog and grope. But what really plagued Draco's mind was Hermione didn't seek him out. He greatly missed leaving a class to find her waiting for him, stooped under her immense school bag, hesitating at the foot of a moving staircase, breaking into a rapturous grin as he approached.

It was obvious to Draco why Hermione seemed so distant - her quest to save him from the Dark Lord's spell was unfruitful and she couldn't bring herself to tell him so.

Draco adjusted a glass stopcock to control the drip of tincture of chimera liver into a tricky formulation of goanna bile for a pride potion and its anecdote. He was interrupted when Hermione whispered, "Draco, I haven't found anything to break the spell that binds you. I'm sorry."

"So, you tried Petals. It didn't work. You did your best," Draco said in a casual voice as if she had just informed him she couldn't get tickets for a local Quidditch match.

That does it. I'm going to find the prettiest little ewe in Hogsmead and I'm going to end it all.

Hermione continued, "Cocoa, in two days time I will have a potion ready for you. You will drink half of it Thursday night and the other half, Friday night. Then you'll be ready for my wand work on Saturday morning. I'm afraid the potion is going to be rather... foul," she still avoided catching Draco's eyes. Worry etched the portions of Hermione's face that Draco could see.

"The best potions are foul," said Draco. "Whatever the potion is for, it wouldn't by any chance give me dreamless sleep as a side effect, would it?"

"No. I can make a dreamless sleep potion for you. Why didn't I think of that sooner? Why didn't ask me to make some for you?"

"Didn't need any before. I stole some from the infirmary more than a month ago but I've used it all."

"Poor Draco." said Hermione sympathetically.

"I went back for more but Pomfrey hid the stuff - the old cow."

Draco felt a little guilty calling Pomfrey an old cow considering the time she put in earlier in the day after his closet adventure with Messalina. Pomfrey thoroughly repaired him - 'lip, limbs and lunch box'.

"I tried making my own potion but," Draco didn't relish admitting he failed at any sort of potion preparation. "I suck at sleep potions in general, never can make them mild enough. Tried making my own dreamless sleep potion back in September. Drank my potion on a Friday night and didn't wake until the following Monday. Talk about waking in a foul mood." He felt humiliated that the one potion he most felt he needed was the only one he couldn't prepare worth beans. "Bet you can fix a decent dreamless sleep potion Petals."

Hermione stroked Draco's arm, ignoring a couple wadded up balls of parchment, launched by Blaise from behind. Blaise was every bit as incorrigible as her younger sister.

"So Petals, if you couldn't find a cure for the spells on me, what is the this potion you're sending me for? The one you said you'll send to me Thursday?"

"So... Mr. Malfoy, Miss 'Petals'," called out Snape from his desk. "I may assume that you are discussing your work?"

Slytherin students around the room burst into laugher.

"Yes, we're discussing potions Sir," said Hermione with dignity.

"Don't tempt me to rearrange the seating Miss Granger," Snape threatened.

"Yes Professor," said Hermione in a placating voice, utterly lost on Snape. Hermione, like the rest of the class, realized something was up with Snape if he wasn't actively stalking his classroom.

"Draco... what is wrong with Snape. Why isn't he roaming the room, making everyone's time in class miserable? Poor thing, is he ill?"

"Damn it, never mind Snape. I'm sure he's fine. If I get anywhere near him I'll feel his nose, see if its moist. Now what will your potion do?"

Hermione continued speaking to Draco, but in a whisper. "The potion I'll send to you will reconnect nerve endings... broken synapses... in your brain. You'll recover every memory you've ever had, including your birth."

"What?" Draco said incredulously.

"I... I have no solution for our problem Draco but I have a plan. Saturday, you, Harry and I will spend the day in our hideaway."

"Hold on, we'll have to meet someplace else. Potter is not setting foot in the hideaway."

Hermione scolded gently. "Now Draco, this is no time for you to be immature."

"I am not immature Petals. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"

"Shush! Please Draco," Hermione continued patiently. "The potion works by reconnecting your mental wiring and enabling you to recall every memory you've ever had. But you won't be able to access the memories. You won't remember any of them."

"Brilliant scheme," Draco said, rubbing his chin pensively. "At first I didn't understand but I do now. I'm going to be rather like a great fat photo album with invisible pictures that no one can see or enjoy, least of all myself. How useful. How clever. Learn that from Gilderoy Lockhart? Didn't you used to sit and moon over that git in Defense Against the..."

"Please Draco, hush." Hermione was in no mood to be teased. "You mentioned photo albums. It was Harry's mention of wizard photos that led me to think of a memory spell as a source to the information we need." Hermione briefly glanced at Draco and stopped cold. "Your lips... Cocoa, why are your lips blue?"

"The natural progress of things. First my lips turn blue; next my bollocks, which, if I allowed you to check, are, as Merlyn is my witness, quite blue. All your fault you little tease." Draco jerked back when Hermione tried to touch his lip.

Hermione continued. "Saturday I will place you under a spell enabling you to see memories we specifically select. The memories will appear to you like a muggle cinema. You will be able to see and hear and tell us what happened to you as a newborn. You'll be able to watch the ceremony that placed the spell on you. You'll watch the Dark Lord and his thirteen death eaters work their unconscionable dark magic on you."

"The stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life, " said Draco as he mused over the scheme. "Or it's fecking brilliant."

"The latter Draco," Hermione smiled with relief. "You might be able to tell us all we need to research a counter spell for you, or nothing at all. Either way, we must try. This whole chance to unravel your spell was Harry's idea. He's brilliant!"

Draco was dumbfounded. No wonder Hermione was so well thought of for her intuitive powers. And just like her to hand all the credit to the cretin, Potter.

"So, we're doing this tomorrow, Saturday? How long will it take?" asked Draco.

"Yes Draco. The spell will in all likelihood..." she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, "preempt our Saturday afternoon snog."

A look spread over Draco's face like a child who was just told his birthday party with pony rides and cake was canceled. Draco only wanted to know how long the procedure might take, and hadn't even thought on their usual Saturday afternoon date. Now that Hermione informed him their afternoon snog was gone Hermione's memory spell plan damn near lost its appeal.

"I'm sorry dear," Hermione smiled at Draco, she thought it was sweet that Draco looked forward to their Saturdays together nearly as much as she did. She was wrong. He enjoyed them more. "Please fill the snack hamper. And please provide a few non-gourmet snacks so Harry can eat without having to develop a taste for twice-cooked Hungarian Horntail sweetbreads in capered brine."

"But you love twice-cooked Hungarian Horntail sweetbreads in capered brine."

Hermione giggled at the thought of Harry trying such an exotic treat. "My parents took me all over Europe and I tasted many things and developed a palette. Harry was raised in a cupboard under a stairwell. Poor Harry still believes crunchy peanut butter is a gourmet treat."

"Biscuits and weak tea it is."

"Draco! Harry can handle something stronger than weak tea and..." Hermione was interrupted.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger." called Snape from the front of the room. "I was unaware that the straightforward preparation of pride potions required much discussion."

"Yes Professor," sighed Hermione.

Draco worked steadily dicing dried peacock hearts into small equally cut pieces. Equally cut sizes were essential to bringing the pride potion to full strength with homogenized consistency. Draco was immensely relieved. His thoughts about Hermione were dead wrong. He watched Hermione close by his side as she poured five measures of powdered elephant hair onto brass scales. Draco noted that Hermione kept a careful eye on Snape as she poured extra three measures onto parchment and pocketed it. All good memory spells required elephant hair. Now he knew why she had filched ingredients from Snape's stores all week. He ought to have known she was only upset about his well being. She had given her word to him that she would try to save him.

"Draco, please don't forget to..."

"I know, I know," Draco smiled, rolled his eyes and whispered. "Don't forget to pinch a half ounce of soil from a soldier's grave when I go to the storage cabinet. "Good as done, stop nagging witch."

Hermione smiled. She loved when Draco called her 'witch'. When he did so it made her feel as though they were a comfortable fussy old married couple. As the very least, they had the 'fussy' part dead on.

"Draco, I'm going to fetch something from the supply cabinet."

Draco nodded, keeping his attention on the cauldron as his busied himself adjusting the flames to keep the peacock heart pieces tumbling in the liquid at steady pace.

The ingredients storage cabinet was located at the rear of the dank classroom. Hermione scanned the ingredients. She spotted the large jar of powdered Madder Root. Quickly she turned to see Professor Snape apparently preoccupied at his desk. Hermione stood tiptoes reaching for the jar, annoyingly just out of reach.

"Here, I can get it," said a familiar voice. "Ask Harry if you can borrow his specs. Your sight must be going Hermione. Stuff in that jar isn't on the list for today's potion." Ron smiled at Hermione but she kept her head turned from him.

Hermione managed to avoid Ron for days at the cost of missed meals and avoiding Gryffindor Commons. "What I need is none of your business Ron." She glanced at Ron's face and he winked at her. His heart sunk as he saw Hermione cringe.

Grimly Ron lifted the jar towards a shelf even higher than the one he removed it from. "Oh, so you don't need this jar then?"

"No, Ron, please!" Hermione gripped Ron by the arm and urgently whispered. "I'm preparing a potion... for personal use Ron. Please Ron?"

With a bit of a triumphant look on his face, Ron pulled down and opened the jar, holding his back to Snape to block the Snape's view. Hermione used a piece of parchment folded into a funnel shape to scoop out some of the red powder.

Ron held the jar with one arm and placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and squeezed. "Hermione," Ron's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "I keep thinking about Saturday night. That was a nice moment. Wasn't it?"

Hermione pulled back from Ron's gentle hand and lit into him, in a frenzied whisper. "That wasn't a moment, that was a stupid witch, being taken advantage of by a so-called-friend."

"So-called-friend?" Ron frowned. "Yes. I suppose that's right. I am much more than a friend to you."

Ron put his arm to Hermione's waist and leaned over to whisper into her ear but wanting to press a point, instead he playfully stuck his tongue in her ear. With a frantic jerk, Hermione pulled her head away as though Ron's tongue were a lit match. Hermione anxiously glanced around and noted with relief, Draco was bent under the table probably rummaging in his rucksack.

"Ron, take your arm off of me or I'll pull my wand and I don't care if I lose my Prefect position for it." Hermione said stiffly. The offending limb retreated rapidly from her waist. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself Ronald Weasley. You knew I was only playing around when I kissed your cheek Saturday night. You took advantage of me."

"That's not how I remember it," said Ron.

"I innocently kissed Harry on the cheek too, but he didn't overreact or take advantage of me."

"Hermione, you kissed me back. You make it sound as if I," he searched for a word that wasn't damnable. "You make it sound as if I 'accosted' you. It was you threw your arms around me, not the other way round. And..."

Hermione peered around to see if anyone had taken note of the confrontation, and so far, so good. She hissed, "and who wrapped his leg around me and pushed his naughty bit up against me like, like a... Oh! I'm so angry I could pull my wand and hit you with the Avada, Ron!"

Slytherin around the room and Gryffindor within the sound of Hermione's stressed voice were now paying rapt attention to the two. Seconds later, parchment flew around the room anew, like paper post owls. Snape paid the flight of the parchments no mind.

"Well, how could I help that?" Ron flared. "I had an armful of... of you. I'm only human." It was not as if he had control over what his 'naughty bit' was up to, any more than he could control the thing right there in class. He was excited, standing so close to Hermione that he could feel the intoxicating heat radiating from her body in the cold dungeon; he could hear her drawing breath. Nor could he control his face, as red as Hermione's face was pale. Like Draco, Ron was heartily grateful to whoever invented bulky school robes - the salvation of every randy Hogwarts wizard.

Ron tried to handle the situation like the adult he believed himself to be. "You bloody started it Hermione!"

"Keep your voice down!" Hermione hissed again. "I kissed your cheek. You wrapped your leg around me, pushed your, your naughty bit against me and shoved your tongue down my throat."

Ron was horrified at Hermione's insistence that the incident was all his doing. "Playing. You know that was only an excuse to snog me. And my 'naughty bit' as you call the 'pride of the boy's dorm', wasn't there until YOU threw yourself on me. And anyway," Ron stubbornly insisted. "You can't deny you enjoyed every bit of our little snog."

The 'pride of the boy's dorm' was not an exaggeration. On Saturday night Hermione arrived at a complete and 'firm' understanding of why there were so damned many Weasleys in the first place.

"So, I'm more than a friend to you? I'm 'special' to you I suppose." Hermione said sarcastically. "So then Ron, where did those hickies on your neck come from? I certainly didn't put them there. What other 'special' friends have you?" Hermione stared intently at Ron. "Well?"

"Those hickies don't mean anything." Ron was surprised that Hermione would find fault with a few innocent hickies.

"I don't think so," snapped Hermione, staring over to see if Draco had noticed anything. Draco was apparently absorbed, carefully weighting out ingredients on brass scales back at their table.

"You should talk," Ron squirmed under Hermione's critical glare. Her unfair criticisms made him feel distinctly unclean. Ron nervously shifted the jar to his other arm. "You should talk Hermione," Ron said hoping to hurt Hermione right back. "I've heard rumours of what you and Malfoy get up to in broom closets and stairwells."

Clenching her fists and vibrating with anger, Hermione said, "stay away from me, you 'scarlet man', or whatever the wizard equivalent is."

Hermione marched two steps and turned to face Ron. She pointed to the jar in Ron's arm and silently mouthed, "Thank you". She then swiftly turned and marched back to Draco at their table.

At the front of the classroom, Snape looked up, from his desk. His eyes swiveled around the room. He noted Weasley was spending a great deal of time at the potion supplies cabinet and the boy's neck was red. Weasley was obviously up to mischief.

"Mr. Weasley," said Snape. "Why are you holding a jar of powdered Madder Root? There is no Madder Root required for the pride potion, or am I mistaken? Would you care to enlighten me on the use of Madder Root in such a potion Mr. Weasley? I seem to have missed the connection between the two."

"Just looking Professor," said Ron. "The stuff is pretty. All red." Unfortunately Ron's face was more scarlet than the powdered roots. "Really, interesting stuff."

"And under the circumstances, I suppose I ought not be surprised with the fascination the color 'red' holds for you Mr. Weasley. Are you that pressed for alternate entertainment?"

The classroom was suddenly filled with hushed giggling and whispered snide comments.

"One week's detention; that should alleviate your boredom Mr. Weasley; ten points from Gryffindor. Be grateful I don't march you to the headmaster on the spot. I've been plagued with theft of potions materials. Consider yourself on my prime suspect list Mr. Weasley. You will never approach or touch the supplies cabinet ever again. If you require potions ingredients someone else will fetch them for you."

"Yes, sir," said Ron. He placed the jar on the floor and called over to his desk partner, Goyle. "Goyle, would you be so good as to return this to the cabinet for me?"

Goyle, who gloomily stirred the contents of the cauldron he shared with Ron, nodded. While Goyle walked over and picked up the jar from the floor, Ron returned to his place.

Hermione was absolutely sick that she got Ron into trouble with Snape. She and Ron had more than their fair share of differences lately, but Ron was a good friend, however forward he'd been of late. And anyway, she did not believe for one minute that she was innocent of any wrong doing on the night she had a snog with Ron. She'd knowingly kissed Ron back and planned to go to her grave denying so. Hermione stood, eyes riveted on the redhead. She was so pale she matched Draco's completion.

"So, did you get what you need from Ron over there?" asked Draco sarcastically. Draco was in the act of pouring a measured amount of Lionwort juice straight into the cauldron. He kept his eyes on his cauldron as he spoke.

"Draco, I..."

Whatever Hermione was going to say was cut off when Snape called out, "Mr. Malfoy, please come forward."

His hand, wand steady, Draco continued pouring the Lionwort juice into the cauldron. It was a dodgy operation and he refused to stop midway to answer to anyone.

"Mr. Malfoy, I instructed you to come here, right now," Snape's voice was sharp.

Draco knew instantly he was in for some sort of trouble, but he could not imagine why. Still, Draco stubbornly and carefully adding the Lionwort juice to the cauldron. His task completed, he plugged the vial.

"Take your time Granger," Draco said before heading to Snape's desk. "My portion of the potion is completed."

At the sound of Draco formally addressing her as 'Granger', rather than 'Petals', Hermione felt ill at heart. She realized Draco must have watched her interaction with Ron. What must Draco think of her?

Stepping away from the table Draco approached Snape carelessly. Poking at a Slytherin girl, on the way to the front of the room, for idle fun. Several students around the classroom watched Draco marching up to the front of the room with nothing more than mild interest. Most assumed Draco was to have some special task assigned to him. As far as anyone could tell, relations between Draco and Professor Snape returned to normal after the spider allergy incident.

"Mr. Malfoy, something has come to my attention," Snape's dark eyes were riveted, searching the lad's face to detect any change of demeanor, nervousness or fear; a complete waste of Snape's time. Draco was fully on guard. Snape could have read the demeanor of a rock with better results. Snape reached into a desk drawer, withdrew and offered a half sheet of parchment to Draco.

As Draco took the parchment and unfolded it he could feel his face draining of blood. That much he had no control over. He didn't need to unfold the note to know what the parchment was; he recognized the pink tinted thing - the packing list from the Magical Massachusetts Herbologist Supply House. The parchment, a packing list, gave the contents for one shipment of dried plant materials, including Poison Ivy, Poison Oak and Poison Sumac.

It was no coincidence that the listed plants consisted of most of the very materials Draco ordered earlier when he successfully faked a violent allergic reaction to Snape's live classroom spiders. Draco had done so to benefit Hermione directly and his actions probably kept Ron Weasley from a suffering a near nervous breakdown from exposure to Snape's hideous live spider collection.

Draco's mind raced. This time Draco easily resisted giving into the fear that occurred the last time. He thoroughly learned his lesson back at the start of term when Snape caught him red-handed cheating on a Potions exam. He felt infinitely older than he was last September. Taking his time, Draco unfolded the parchment, and, read the thing contemplatively and coolly. Draco thanked his lucky stars that the slip did not mention his name. There was a receipt with his name upon it. That receipt sat in the snack hamper in the hideout. The real receipt would be destroyed... carefully destroyed, as soon as Draco could possibly manage.

When he finished perusing the packing slip, Draco refolded it and attempted to pass it back to Snape.

Snape would not take the parchment back. He stood fixed as a statue.

Draco looked at Snape. "Yes? What?"

"Mr. Malfoy. Do you recognize that parchment?"

"No Professor. Should I?" Draco looked bored; a stellar performance.

"I have reason to believe that you are the one who placed that order."

"What would I want plants for?" Draco sounded as if Snape were suggesting Draco had ordered a shipment of paper dolls. "I don't care for magical Herbology. Ask Professor Sprout, she'll tell you."

"These are not magical plants Mr. Malfoy. They are in fact, common North American plants."

"I don't understand. Since I don't want magical plants, what in Salazar's scrotum would I want with non-magical plants?" Draco asked in contemplative tone, as if just idly discussing a random topic with Snape.

Snape's black eyes opened wide. "Mr. Malfoy, you will watch your language around me. Fifteen points from Slytherin."

Around the classroom Slytherin students gasped and dropped their quills and stirring rods as yet another Snape/Malfoy melodrama unfolded at the front of the classroom.

"You will find that I am NOT in the mood for your cheeky insubordination," Snape's obsidian eyes observed Draco carefully, like a cat cornering a particularly fat mouse.

"Fifteen points?" Draco dropped his head as though repentant; a move calculated to placate Snape - clearly the alpha wolf in this situation and there was no point pretending otherwise. "Pardon my manners Sir. Anyway, nice list, impressive plants. Can I get back to my potion preparation now?"

Draco looked back to his table, where Hermione stood, her face stricken. "Sir, Miss Granger is now handling the most sensitive portion of the preparation." Draco leaned closer to Snape and said in a sarcastic stage whisper. "A witch sir, preparing a pride potion? For Salazar's sake Professor, if she messes up and the vapors float over to poor Longbottom at the next table, the boy will challenge Greengrass over there to a wizard's duel and Longbottom will be killed! Do you want to spend the rest of the week doing the paper work on a totally avoidable incident like that? Please Sir, allow me to assist Miss Granger."

A few students at tables near the front of the room sniggered. Greengrass and Longbottom were at opposite ends of the wand skill continuum, with Neville occupying the lowest point on the scale.

Draco turned to face Hermione back at their table. He winked at her to calm her down, which did not work. It was too late for easy fixes for anything. Draco faced Snape, giving the same studied, bored look.

Prove that I have any connection to that slip of paper. I dare you.

Snape's lips formed something of a thin smile, but then, the pale lips might have been grimacing; always difficult to tell with Snape.

"Mr. Malfoy. You are going to stand on that spot until either you give the information I asked for or until dawn breaks; which ever comes first, your choice. I have paper work to complete and all the time in the world. I expect you to maintain silence unless you are confessing, in front of your peers. Confessing it was you, ordered those... interesting, toxic and highly irritating plants."

With a look of absolute innocence Draco asked, "Speaking of highly irritating things Professor, may I ask, what's this all about? What do I have to do with your botanical order? I don't under..."

"Forgot the definition of silence Mr. Malfoy?" Professor Snape snatching the parchment back from Draco. Snape turned to his desk and looked at it thoughtfully. Snape suddenly began to nod with satisfaction, as though having made a particularly wise decision. He took up a large potions text and showed it to Draco.

"'Pharmaceutical uses of Phantasmagorial Plants' by Felonius Pheromone. I have not found this particular edition of Professor Pheromone's works of much use, until now. Please stretch out your arm Mr. Malfoy. Palm up."

Draco could not believe what seemed to be happening. Stunned, he stuck out his arm, palm up. It was his great misfortune that he inadvertently put up the very palm bitten earlier in the day by Messalina that was still painful from the stinging effects of the healing salve of all things. Frowning, Snape placed the large text, weighing at least a kilo on Draco's open hand. Draco's hand sagged under the heavy book. Snape placed his hand under Draco's and pushed it upwards.

"There... hold that right... about... there... Mr. Malfoy." There was no mistaking the smile that now clearly formed on Snape's thin lips. "I prefer a punishment for you that will not drag down Slytherin house with you Mr. Malfoy. Hold that text, thus, until you confess it was you who ordered those plants. If I hear anything else out of you, I will place the second edition of this useful text on your other hand."

The class buzzed in outrage. Was that sort of punishment even allowed at Hogwarts? What was next, thumbscrews? The Slytherin and Gryffindor students alike grumbled angrily among themselves.

Snape angrily clapped his hands together like a fussy old school marm and in his silkiest voice said, "Class, I recommend you all tend to your cauldrons unless you wish to join Mr. Malfoy here. I want quiet. Don't think I can't manage detention for the entire class."

Snape seated himself behind his desk and gave Draco a malicious smile. Then, taking up his quill, he scratched away at on a parchment.

No doubt ordering a semi-private room for me at Azkaban.

In spite of Snape's venomous warning, murmurs rumbled around the classroom, as many from the house of Gryffindor as from Slytherin.

The sound of shattering glass filled the room. Ron Weasley stood so fast that he knocked over a decanter of goanna bile on his table. "Excuse me Professor Snape, I overheard. Is that a botanical order?" Ron's voice sounded highly curious as though he had only just realized that he and Snape were blood relations. Ron walked to the front of the room, "Professor Snape Sir. Is that a packing list for American plants? Cool! That's mine sir." Ron grinned and held out his hand, reaching for the parchment on Snape's desktop.

Snape looked up. "What? What did you say Mr. Weasley?"

"I asked about that slip Professor. Is it a receipt sir?" Weasley smiled gamely and reached touched his hand to the parchment. Snape snatched the parchment list from Ron's reach.

"And why would you order an expensive shipment of botanical plants for Mr. Weasley?"

At the mention of the expense of the order, Ron reddened. "Well," said Ron with conviction that he hadn't felt only seconds earlier. "Ordered those for my class special project. I'm preparing my end of term paper on... a dissertation on the potential of using non-magical plants in the preparation of magical potions and how toxic non-magical plants play have a useful roll in modern magical potions. I haven't given you my proposal yet. Not quite ready yet." Ron smiled, beaming. "Can I have my list back Sir?"

"And where are these interesting plants that you ordered Mr. Weasley?" Snape did not bother to disguise the look of loathing he gave Ron.

A second crash sounded. Back at Ron's table, Goyle had stood up, sending a second decanter crashing to the floor. The reek of tincture of chimera gizzard spread through the room.

"My plants, " said Goyle. "I ordered plants. My parchment."

All speculative gossiping halted again. Gregory Goyle speaking without someone actively prodding him with a sharp stick was always an event.

"Mr. Goyle?" said Professor Snape, plainly astonished.

"My plant list. Not his," Goyle pointed to Ron. "That is my list." Goyle's face was deadly serious. "Want my list back. I need it."

"What for Mr. Goyle?"

"End of term paper," said Goyle quickly.

Goyle speaking in flowing sentences - it was almost scary.

"You have never completed an end of term paper," said Snape, his patience ebbing.

Goyle smiled and shrugged. "Maybe this time?"

The students laughed and snickered. Goyle had made a joke. They would use the event mark the time forever in their minds. 'Come on, you remember? That was the year Goyle made a joke!'

Harry and Hermione stared at each other from across the aisle. In the spirit of the thing, Harry stood abruptly, his chair crashing to the floor behind him.

"Professor Snape Sir?" Harry shouted. "Goyle and Ron are covering for me. That's my parchment!"

"Sit DOWN Potter," barked Snape standing angrily, his chair falling over. Somehow Snape could not accept Ron covering for Malfoy, Goyle covering for Ron, Potter apparently covering for all of the above. Perhaps the entire school just passed into some alternate universe? If so, might he have the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class this go round?

"Sir!" shouted Pansy Parkinson waving happily from the rear of the room. She stood up. "The boys are joking. They know the parchment belongs to me. Must have dropped it when I was..." As an afterthought Pansy shoved over her chair.

"You are a Prefect... for now anyway, Miss Parkinson, I recommend that you sit down before..."

"Oh Sir!" came Hermione's voice. Following the new fad she shoved her chair over too. "Did you find that list here by my table? That's mine sir, I ordered it for my term project, surely you remember that I had told you..."

Crash, went another chair. "Sir the Granger witch is like so full of floo powder! That is MY packing list," came Blaise's breathless voice from the behind Hermione. No way Blaise was going to let the Gryffindor muggleborn be nobler than a Zabini.

"Oh, quiet Blaise, that's my list!" called Lavender, flipping over her chair.

"Sir, I'll be having my list back now. It's mine all right," shouted Seamus, cheerfully lifting his chair over his head and flinging it to the back of the room. "Ingredients I ordered for an aphrodisiac I'm working on." He winked and flicked his eyebrows up and down at Blaise. "Not for my use you understand," he shouted in a stage whisper to Blaise. "For the witches. So they can attempt keep up with me."

Crash!

"It's my list!" called out Neville. "Only forget what I wanted the plants for..."

"List mine," said Crabbe. It took Crabbe three tries to overturn his chair.

Voice after voice, crash after crash, students noisily clamored, claiming the plant list for themselves. The raucous noise filled the dungeon, until every student - Slytherin and Gryffindor alike - stood insisting on retrieving 'their' property. Hermione stood at her table, tears predictably dribbling down her chin.

Pain finally ceased to shooting down Draco's arm. His wand arm and its injured hand were now numb but for pain at the shoulder. Draco took better care of his wand arm than a muggle concert pianist or surgeon took care of their hands. Draco's father always cautioned him on the importance of babying one's wand arm. The wand arm of a wizard of good breeding was only for use in delicate wand operations. Draco adhered to his father's sage advice unless one counted the use of the valued wand arm for punching blundering team members or grappling annoying Amazon blondes as one rolled down stadium staircases. All things being equal, Snape would pay for the indignity of Draco's punishment.

As Draco stood heartened by the supportive chatter of his classmates, he decided then and there he was going to give every single Slytherin and Gryffindor in the class a nice present for Christmas. For distraction from the aching pain in his arm, Draco made his Christmas list.

A new jumper for Lavender... flesh colored of course, for Seamus a subscription to World Quidditch Magazine, the deluxe subscription, twelve months of swimsuit editions... And a lovely new scratching post for Blaise.

Hum... even something for Potter and the Weasel. A generous hamper of twice-cooked Hungarian Horntail sweetbreads in capered brine for Potter. What could the Weasel use? Easy enough! Two bright and shiny Galleons to rub together; all tied up in shiny ribbon, probably more money than any Weasley in living memory has seen all together at one time.

Draco took a risk. He looked over to Snape and called out in as snotty a voice as he could manage without sniggering, "See? I told you that list wasn't mine Professor." He breathed a sigh of relief that Snape did not on the spot pull a wand and smite him with the Cruciatus Curse.

Snape pushed his greasy black hair out of his eyes and glared at Draco for a full minute as though trying to remember what had happened to the nice little blonde Slytherin boy of good upbringing, whose body was now clearly inhabited by a heinous spirit.

Then Snape turned to his rebellious students. All noise ceased. No one would have been surprised had Snape taken the time out of his busy morning to walk the classroom and take the opportunity to smack every single face. There was precedence in Potions class for such action. Snape had done as much to a third year Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw class only the previous month. The combination of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students was always extremely trying for Professor Snape.

"All of you may find this quite amusing. Let me assure you this is a serious matter. Fetch your chairs and sit down immediately." Snape's face surprised everyone by growing even angrier; not something anyone thought possible, and not a pretty sight. "Those of you who do not want to be implicated in a massive loss of house points for Slytherin and Gryffindor alike, or an unequalled quantity of detentions would do well to proceed with caution."

Not a single student sat. Only the sound to be heard was that of boiling cauldrons, and of Neville repeatedly fumbling and dropping his stirring rod.

Oh, that has to be Neville... hum... perhaps a nice book for Neville. My guess is he'd enjoy 'Coming to Terms With Your Inner Squib' by Professor Ima Wright Faileur.

"SIT DOWN!" bellowed Snape, so loudly that Draco and students in the first two rows felt their ears pop.

Students raced around, recovering their chairs and sitting.

Snape slithered around his desk and faced Draco. He angrily snatched the text from Draco's aching arm. Draco wanted to run for cover, but instead he bravely put on his most superior demeanor, and massaged his arm while glaring at Snape with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Prefect Parkinson!" Snape growled. "Watch the class until I return. Come with me Mr. Malfoy."

"Professor," complained Draco, "Aren't you going to tell me what this is all about? I still don't understand what ...?"

The look Snape gave Draco froze the boy mid sentence.

"Come with me Mr. Malfoy," Snape turned abruptly, and walked towards his personal offices.

Taking his time, trailing behind Snape, Draco faced the class and smiled brightly. He gave a thumbs up with his good arm and took his time striding after Snape. When Snape and Draco were well out of earshot, the classroom broke into applause. A small favor that Gryffindor house felt should be bestowed on Draco for having the moxie to stand up to the Hufflepuff hellion - little Hannah Abbot, was paid, with interest.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other from across the room. Hermione mouthed 'thank you' and returned to tending her cauldron, as best she could through her tears.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the Slytherin Commons Draco sat moping, slumped in a black comfy chair. Snape gave Draco a chewing out so thorough the boy was surprised he had an arse left to set upon a comfy chair. It didn't seem that Draco and Snape would ever get along ever again. Draco sorely missed his old relationship with Snape and wondered if things would ever return to normal for them again. A lad really misses being shamelessly fawned upon, spoiled and favored by his favorite Professor. True, Severus Snape was a nasty, snarky, ill tempered, greasy haired git of a teacher, but he was Draco's nasty, snarky, ill-tempered, greasy haired git and that was special. It didn't take long for Draco's mind to leave off worrying over the man who only the previous school term Draco referred to an excellent educator and the only teacher of worth at Hogwarts.

Draco was crushed. When Snape at long last released Draco from his offices Hermione was not waiting by the office doors. However excellent her charms, alabaster her smackable arse, or how much he loved her Draco felt embarrassed that he had been reduced to such a pitiable state by a witch. All in all, love sucked. Not far along in his current moodiness, Draco was apparently not the only one for whom life's greatest combination reward and mystery bit the big one. Draco rose from his stupor long enough to notice Goyle, seated on the sofa on the other side of the fireplace.

"Goyle," called Draco. "Get over here."

A grunt was the only answer.

"I said, get your arse over here Goyle, NOW."

The large boy slowly stood and crossed over to Draco. Goyle was abjectly miserable, his eyes downcast. The taciturn boy was a study in dejection. As large as the boy was, he gave the impression of utter vulnerability.

"So? What's wrong?" asked Draco as though he had not the slightest idea.

Goyle shrugged. His eyes slowly rose to meet Draco's. "'Lina, Goyle sighed. 'Lina Zabini."

"Oh you poor, poor, sorry bastard," Draco looked utterly sympathetic. "What happened?"

Goyle shrugged again. His eyes studied his own shoes.

"I'm sorry mate," said Draco. "So...? I know it's a little soon, and I don't want to be insensitive. But, are you sufficiently over Messalina that I can say something about the situation, like 'damn that miserable, willie-teasing, two-timing bitch Messalina from here to Sunday' without upsetting you all to pieces?"

Goyle shook his head no.

"Ok, it's too early yet then. I have a heart, wouldn't dream of saying such a thing," said Draco seriously. "Thank you for standing up for me in Potions today like a good mate. I appreciate that Goyle."

Goyle cringed.

"Can't you look at me?" asked Draco. Eye contact was a vital bit of Slytherin behavior.

Goyle shook his head.

"What's wrong?" asked Draco curtly. "Anything you want to tell me?"

The two remained silent for several minutes. Draco sat scratching his chin, working on his Christmas list as he waited for Goyle to make up his lethargic mind.

Maybe Pansy would enjoy a nice book for Christmas - '1001 Beauty Secrets - Making the Most of Your Face'.

Finally Goyle spoke. "I helped 'Lena. She wanted ashes. Gave them to her."

"From the fireplace in our dorm room I presume?"

Goyle nodded again.

"Did you have an idea why Messalina would want ashes from our dorm room?"

Draco leaned forward and smiled up into Goyle's face to show support, but Goyle looked away and shook his great head up and down. The huge boy seemed on the verge of either tears or a nervous fit.

"Don't take on," said Draco, knowing his suspicions about Messalina were correct. "That bitch, oh, I'm sorry Goyle. I meant, 'Messalina' probably used the 'Cinerisnovo Spell' which reconstitutes ashes."

Draco kept his eyes glued to Goyle; never knew when the large bloke might go off the deep end.

"Big word 'reconstitution', isn't it? Means that Messalina took the ashes and turned them back into the objects that were burned to make the ashes. Fancy bit of combination cauldron and wand work there, I can tell you. Clever, clever witch. You wouldn't know about that spell Goyle, we don't cover that in Transformation for another couple of years at least. But what I wonder is how she knew there was damnable evidence to use against me in the ashes in the first place?"

Goyle's eyes flicked to Draco momentarily, then resettled on the carpet.

Draco looked only slightly taken aback to see a big tear roll down Goyle's cheek. The large boy raised a huge hand to wipe at his face. Goyle turned to face the fireplace, too ashamed to face Draco.

"Don't take on so Goyle," said Draco in a nonchalant voice. "An immensely cunning and talented witch outwitted you. So what? Happens to me all the bloody time."

Sighing heavily Draco said, "Naughty, naughty Messalina. I'm afraid Father Christmas is going to forget that errant girl again this year. Shame really." Thoughtfully Draco scratched his head. "Of course Goyle I'll have to get around to kicking your sad, sad, sorry arse for doing me in like that. Hum... suitable punishment... I know. Maybe it would do for you to just work out with the Quidditch team for...oh... say the remainder of the school year?"

Goyle's head nodded, his back was still to Draco, who could hear the large boy sniveling.

"Do buck up you oversized pussy! You know I'm doing you a favor. Since I started working out the team properly, the lads are seeing more action on the dating front than the Irish National Quidditch team after they won the bloody Quidditch cup last year. I'd say three weeks of you trimming down and toning up and I wager you'll have to carry a wand at workouts to pitch a stunning spell on the witches clinging to your trouser legs and grabbing at your 'package'. You're still pretty handy with stunning spells, aren't you?"

Goyle's back began to shake rhythmically.

"Goyle, come on now mate," said Draco shocked that Goyle should take on so. "No need to carry a torch for that ..." Draco stopped speaking as Goyle turned around. The large boy was not crying, but was winding up for a laughing fit.

"Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee!" laughed Goyle, throwing his head back and snorting with glee. Goyle was into a major laughing fit that might last most of the evening as Draco's witty words processed themselves through Goyle's system like an accidentally swallowed Knut.

"There, there Goyle," said Draco. "Let it all out you poor, poor sod. I'm turning in now. Practice is tomorrow morning before daybreak so don't let this go on too long." Draco hopped off the black comfy chair and headed up to the dorms.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was wicked early in the wee hours of Friday morning and a cold mist hung over the Quidditch stadium. The Slytherin team hurtled along the interior stadium perimeter like spooked deer eluding a wolf. Draco raced along, behind 'his' team hurtling insults and threats. At morning practices the team ran endless loops inside the stadium on the pitch sand to build stamina.

"I SEE BUM BAGS BOUNCING BEHIND YOU LOT, AND YOU AREN'T WEARING ANY! WHY AM I STILL SEEING FAT? I'LL NOT HAVE IT!"

The Slytherin team was thoroughly sick of Madman Malfoy's training methods consisting of seventy five percent grueling workouts and twenty five percent brutal humiliation. The grumbling did not matter however, because no one could deny - Draco's methods worked.

"The Hufflepuff game is coming up quick and you lot aren't going to beat them on a diet of fat, overstuffed egos! I don't want MY team too tired to give a good fart an hour into the game, DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"YES CAPTAIN MALFOY SIR!" puffed the Slytherin team as they beat the sand for yet another lap around the pitch.

In spite of the litany of griping and complaining taking place behind Draco's back - a survival strategy if there ever was one - no Slytherin team ever looked better. The average team bruin lost one stone in weight while gaining as much in muscle mass. Considering the already sizable concentration of muscle on the Slytherin the toning and tightening of that much raw muscle was mightily impressive.

The Slytherin training results did not go unnoticed. Attending the early morning sessions to watch the running of the Slytherin 'Dawn Brawn' was wildly popular. In October when the team's 'improvement' was first noticed, the stadiums contained only witches, and a more than a few special wizards. But by December students from all houses dragged themselves out of warm four-posters before dawn either to cheer on the hunky Slytherin team and to check each out, and make dates.

As Draco herded the team towards the stadium stands he noted there was a larger than usual crew of students present, drooling over 'his' team and shouting at their favorite Slytherin team members.

'Oi! You Pucey in the black track suit! Want a real workout? Astronomy Tower, midnight, it's you and me!'

'You there Cooper! Got chips to go with all that beef?'

As early as the hour was, student energy and spirits were high. Glancing up at the stands, Draco felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Hermione sitting, but not up in the stands. She sat reading on a bench by the Slytherin locker room door. She looked up at Draco, smiled and waved. Draco chuffed up like a bull elk in its prime and bellowed into the cold morning air.

"This is Bollocks! What is with you sorry buggers this morning?" Draco bellowed at the team. "Has all this attention gone to your thick heads? Some garden variety lonely-hearts clot up the stadium in hope of rodgering you salad dodgers and that's it for any real training efforts? How are we going to destroy the flippin' Pufflehuffs if you lot of nancys mince around the pitch like prima ballerinas chasing after the knight bus? MOVE IT!"

After a few more rounds around the pitch, and an exhaustive calisthenics workout, the team gathered round Captain Malfoy near the Slytherin locker room. Draco marched up and down the line of players, like King Arthur Pendragon inspecting his legions.

"Our game against the Huffle 'creampuffs' a week from today will be brutal," Draco continued to pace up and down the row, with the odd glance towards Hermione. "We ought to be grateful for having the opportunity to test our mettle against some tough opposition for a change! A team that unlike the 'Canaryclaws' or the 'Fryvendors', know how to properly play the honorable game of Quidditch!"

The team raised their broomsticks and shouted affirmations to Draco's words. To be sure, Draco had never before paid such high praise to an opposing school team. And thus far in the school term, the Hufflepuffs played Quidditch with a deadly determination. If the Slytherin game strategy was 'what the referee didn't see, never happened', the Hufflepuff strategy was, 'dead men tell no tales'. The game coming up between Hufflepuff and Slytherin would be cataclysmic.

Draco was dead serious. "When we play the Huffs, you will appreciate that I have extensively drilled each and every one of you on every field position - beater, chaser and keeper. No one role is more important to the success of our team than any other... least ways since we've put our keepers to taking out opposition as occasion calls for it."

The Slytherin team sniggered appreciatively.

"Between our strongly cross-trained reserve players, and first string players, we are secure that if the Huffs grow lucky enough to take any of us out, it will do them piss poor good."

"Oi, Cap," called out the dependably disagreeable Radgerman. "Here then, who's to fly seeker if they take you out?

Radgerman had posed the very question that had joined the ranks of niggling keeping Draco tossing and turning nights. Draco stared at Radgerman fuming, but not over the question. For once, Radgerman capitulated.

"But Captain Malfoy. Who'll be seeker if the Puffs take you out?"

"Unless one of you lot develop some seeker talent right quick, I'll just have to remain in the game as seeker and Bob's your uncle."

"But Captain Malfoy, you're the first one they'll try to remove," said Bole.

"That is why you lot had better see to it that I make it game's end. I have to, since you lot dead suck as seekers. Hagrid's dog Fang would make a better seeker. The hound's at least got some talent catching balls although he can't sit a broom for shite."

The teams laughed because unfortunately, no truer words were ever spoken. Draco was a true seeker, lithe, muscular and a talented and resourceful flier. But the rest of the Slytherin team played the game by virtue of brute strength. They were large and had the grace of stampeding bison - something better appreciated when replayed by omnioccular in slow motion mode.

"And I warn you lot," Draco pointed an accusatory finger at the team. "If the puffs take me out, I strongly recommend you transfer to Durmstrang sharpish like, or I will personally see to it that you lot suffer until you beg for the Crucio Curse just to take your mind off the hell I'll personally put you through," Draco threatened. "Now, any other questions?"

"Let's have some sort of ceremony ready for our win, like the Chucklepuffs why don't we?" one of the lads asked.

It pleased Draco immensely that his team assumed victory enough to make such a blatant request for a run to celebrate their assumed win.

"Good question," said Draco with his first smile of the day. "If anyone has any ideas on that, see me."

"Here, Cap'" called out Radgerman, and no one was surprised. It was nearly three minutes since Radgerman's last outbreak of pompous insubordination. "I have an idea. We can just take you out to center pitch and set your smart-arse on fire. Ha, ha, ha, ha!"

The sad thing is that Radgerman actually thought he was being wildly amusing. Unfortunately for him, Draco did not share his outlook, and his first smile of the day gave way to a glower.

"That does it Radgerman." Draco whipped his wand out of his tracksuit robes and swirled it over his head. In a voice so soft that no one near him could hear, Draco crooned, "Levidensis", and then bellowed, "Kavada Adavra!" A green bolt of light hit Tiberius Radgerman smack between his eyes.

Radgerman crumpled onto the sand like a collapsing carthorse.

'Levidensis Kavada Adavra' well known actually, is rather a party trick of a spell, called the 'poor little death spell'. But the team didn't know that, and they all gasped in horror. As far as they could tell, Draco would be staring up the hood of a Dementor by teatime for sure.

"He's killed Radgerman," hollored horror-struck team members and fans up in the stadium terraces. Students, raced out of the stands, and stampeded out of the stands and back towards the castle afraid that Madman Malfoy had completely lost his mind.

Hermione, who watched the entire scene from the bench by the locker room door, raced over and dropped to her knees by Radgerman. "Calm down, everyone," she shouted, taking command. "He's not dead, only stunned." She had caught the difference between Draco's 'trick' stunning spell, and the unforgivable Avada Kedavra spell. But just to make sure she felt Radgerman's pulse. Then she turned around to glare accusingly at Draco, who stood rolling his eyes over the uproar.

"Draco how could you? Look what you did to this poor boy!"

"Quiet Hermione," said Draco. "He's fine. I've done that spell before. Radgerman will come round in about a half hour. Maybe two hours. Four tops. I can almost guarantee he'll make it to dinner tonight."

"I won't be quiet Draco!" Hermione didn't hold back her fury at Draco's 'unfair' attack. "You can't go around pulling your wand like that Cocoa! You'll be expelled!"

"I said, 'be quiet'," Draco growled, his eyes glued to the faces of his team players, all smirking at their Captain getting a comeuppance from his muggleborn girlfriend. Worse, the team heard him called 'Cocoa' for Salazar's sake! He would never live that little 'lovey-dovey' name down with those brutes flinging it around behind his back! He leaned closer to Hermione, "I've warned you about this before. Not in front of the wizards."

"I will not be quiet! When Radgerman wakes up you are going to apologize to him. Do you hear me Draco Malfoy?" Had she been standing, Hermione would have stamped her foot.

At Hermione's scolding, the entire Slytherin team broke into roars of laughter.

"Captain Cocoa! Your little girlie is tough on you, isn't she? HAHAHAHAHA!"

"HA HA HA HA! Anything we can do to help? Maybe give her 'what for' since you can't handle her Cap'n Cocoa? HA HA HA HA HA!"

Draco fumed as the team took the mickey out of him.

"HA HA HAA, poor Captain! Oi, lads! We know which of those two is the true wand waver, now don't we! HA HA HA HA!"

"Malfoy, just stand behind us if your little 'Gryffindor Bay-ay-bee' is frightening you! HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Draco!" shouted Hermione in wide-eyed horror. "You don't sing those GHASTLY love songs you make up about me when anyone is around?"

"That does it!" bellowed Malfoy, angrier than his team had ever seen him without having his willie caught in his zipper. "I WANT TEN LAPS FROM YOU TAPPED TOSSERS RIGHT NOW!"

"But Cap..." said Pucey, a team beater.

"CAP? DID YOU CALL ME CAP?" Draco walked over to Pucey and slugged the much larger boy as hard as he could in the stomach. The larger boy didn't fall. In fact, Pucey didn't even seem to lose any air from the punch, but just the same, Pucey took on a look of fear in his eyes. It was rather like watching a pony club child of 4 stone successfully terrify a half-ton stallion with a twig and a harsh word. It is not the size of the twig, it is the size of the ire.

"SORRY CAPTAIN DRACO MALFOY SIR!" shrieked Pucey, dropping his broomstick and hoofed it after his teammates who were already a few hundred yards along the track on their punishment run, racing in terror, better safe than blasted with Draco's revengeful wand.

Leaving Radgerman where he lay, Draco grabbed Hermione by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Clutching the angry girl's arm, he pulled her along, through the Slytherin locker room doors.

"Draco, I can't be in here!" protested Hermione understandably. "It smells like old socks, and... like someone loosed a herd of wet musk oxen in here! Pewww!" Her assessment of the odor level was generous considering that flies entering the Slytherin locker room seldom lasted twenty minutes.

A witch entering the Slytherin locker room was right akin to a muggle woman boarding an eighteenth century sailing ship - bad luck. Had the team viewed Hermione entering their sacred territory, they'd have rioted. But Draco didn't care, he dragged Hermione past the lockers and towards his private office. Hermione's eyes bugged as she viewed the 'inner sanctum' of the Slytherin locker room.

The lockers were nothing too exciting, made of ancient walnut, the doors carved with intricate classic Quidditch scenes. Posters and pictures were stuck up all over many of the lockers and lined the walls. There was a smattering of lively moving posters that featured the Wimbourne Wasps, Kenmare Kestrels and others. The remaining posters however featured appealing witches in various posses and states of undress. Wizards being wizards, Hermione had always expected as much. As Draco dragged her through the room, what set Hermione's cheeks to blushing were some of the more interesting posters featuring wizards and witches actively doing... things ... uh... you get the general idea. The disgraceful display existed only because Madame Hooch tired of tearing down and burning up the prurient posters, as tireless a chore as ridding a garden of gnomes armed with a broken flyswatter.

Reaching his office, Draco flung Hermione in and loudly slammed the door shut behind them. Draco's office was decorated much in line as the locker area.

He eyed Hermione dangerously, fighting to control his temper.

What the hell.

He spun Hermione around and landed a single sharp smack on her bum. Contrary to the earlier 'smack-tacular' this smack, even with the protection of her clothing, hurt a lot. Hermione shrieked in indignation.

"How dare you!" yelped Hermione shaking with rage and clutching her stinging rear.

"How dare I? How many times have I TOLD you not to mouth off in front of wizards?"

"Who do you think you are?" Hermione yelled. She already had an inkling that this was not to be another good-natured Malfoy/Granger row, ending with a ferocious snog.

His first flush of passion spent on the bum smack, Draco turned venomous.

"Do you have any idea how many weeks of grueling badgering it took me to whip that team into shape? To get enough control over them to mold them into a cohesive unit, a team? You mouthed off and I'm back where I started ruling over a bunch of disconnected gits who haven't the self-discipline of a cage full of Cornish Pixies!" Draco picked up a Quidditch trophy and petulantly flung it against the wall with all his might. The trophy shattered, making a noise like a cannon firing.

"Do you understand what you did out there? I work HARD keeping that team under control! Do you think it's easy? We'll soon be up against the second toughest Quidditch team EVER! Slytherin is number one of course. Single handedly you have in all likelihood lost a game that hasn't even been played yet!"

"Draco..." said Hermione with a tinge of fear in her voice. "You are screaming at me."

"And do not interrupt me." In locker room language, Draco asked the question that bedeviled him all week. "What the fuck is going on with you?"

"Cocoa! What are you talking about?" asked Hermione, still in a bit of a shock.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You and that poverty stricken..." Draco abruptly stopped speaking and took a couple of steps backwards. He had to keep his wits about him. He didn't want Hermione short circuiting his sense of reason.

"Potions class," he began simply. "Do you know what sticks out in my mind from that calamitous Potions class the other day? Snape, my former favorite professor, out for my blood because of a favor I did for your benefit? No. The entire class rallying behind me? No. What is going to go with me to my grave - which may happen sooner rather than later - is watching you and that indigent carrot-head, nearly snog at the potions supply cabinet."

"Snog? That isn't what happened," Hermione said. For the first time in ages she felt frightened of Draco who positively vibrated with anger he fought to control. Hermione felt as disconsolate, as alienated as she did years ago, when Draco called her a mudblood for the first time.

"You're innocent of any wrongdoing? Then why have you avoided me?"

There was nothing for it now, but the truth.

"Oh, Draco... on Saturday night I was kissing Harry in the common room." At the outset, Hermione noted her explanation was a bit wonky. She thought it might be a good move to begin her explanation all over again.

"Harry gave me the idea that lead me to figuring out how to tackle the spell on you. I was excited... No, I mean, I felt enthused, happy with Harry's idea. So I kissed Harry. Just tiny pecks on his cheeks. To thank him."

"Go on," Draco crossed his arms. "I fully understand your kissing that git Scarhead, if he managed to have a good idea. Celebration and encouragement are called for on such rare occasions."

"And Ron came down from the boys dorm."

Draco nodded.

"He looked... angry. Because I was... lying on Harry by the fireplace and kissing him. But in an innocent way!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "For the sake of argument, may I assume everyone involved was... say... wearing clothing?"

"Of course we wore clothing!" Hermione's words grew increasing frantic. "I got up and went over to Ron and gave him a friendly little hug too. I kissed his cheeks." She hurried to add, "the kisses didn't mean anything."

"There," said Draco. "Was that so hard? Why didn't you just tell me last Sunday after it happened? Sounds innocent enough to me."

Hermione's face flooded with relief, and she moved towards Draco with open arms.

Draco's impenetrable face darkened and he stepped backwards again. "As you didn't see fit to voluntarily tell me what happened with the Weasel, there must be more to it."

Taking a deep breath and gathering all her courage, Hermione continued. "Ron didn't understand I was only having a lark. He gripped me and wouldn't let go. I tried to push him away, break loose but I couldn't. Ron's arms are too strong."

Draco's fair eye darkened like an oncoming hurricane and looked absolutely murderous, although whether his hostility extended towards Hermione or Ron was unclear.

"Ron wouldn't let go of me. He... Frenched me... and kept kissing me! I couldn't pry loose, and it seemed silly yell or something, I mean, I'm as safe with Ron as in my mother's arms, he would never harm me."

Draco would have begged to differ with Hermione's assessment of Ron's harmlessness, but he held his tongue.

"And then...I kissed Ron. I was curious and I kissed him back."

"Will you make me ask you one more time then?" Draco now drawled. He never drawled his voice when speaking to Hermione. He only drawled when addressing his foes. "There must be something else. I can see so in your eyes."

Hermione knew there was no benefit to holding anything back. It was as if Draco could read her mind. And besides, things had already taken a decided turn for the worse. "We only kissed for a couple of minutes, but then things went... funny. Ron was all, you know," Her eyes flashed momentarily to Draco's crotch, "...excited."

Not a clue to Draco's mind set showing on his face, but it was easy enough to guess.

"I was surprised, but I didn't stop kissing Ron. Then things got horrid. I noticed there were hickies, all over Ron's neck. I hadn't put them there. I panicked, broke away from Ron and ran to my room. It was dreadful Draco," Hermione's face reddened as she thought of her embarrassment that evening.

"The whole thing didn't last five minutes! I swear to you I was only fooling around! I didn't mean for it to happen!"

Draco nodded his head slowly now; a brief smile flitted across his lips. "So let's see if I have this straight. You had a bit of a snog with that impoverished, rusty-knackered prat, and his 'little happy fellow' pops up to say 'Hello! Pleased to meet you Miss Granger!' And you were fine with that, no problem, kiss, kiss, kiss."

Draco began to pace back and forth with a baffled look on his face.

"Suddenly, you spot those damnable hickies on Weasley's neck. Only to imagine the horror or it - hickies! So you break away from Weasley's iron grip and race to the safety of your dorm room, a narrow escape from the 'pink hickies of death.'"

Tilting his head like a puzzled budgie, Draco asked, "So, I'm wondering, I mean, between Carrot Crotch's turgid tadger, and his little red hickies - what exactly put you off about the hickies, but not the hard-on?"

Hermione had to admit to herself. The whole hickey vs. hard-on thing did sound rather suspicious as Draco pointed it out. "I don't know," she replied in a mousy voice.

"I asked a question." Draco barked, "ANSWER IT!"

Quaking, Hermione gave the matter thought. "Because I enjoy... I enjoyed..." She wondered how stupid her confession would sound. "You wouldn't understand Draco, you're attractive; quite attractive. People always tell you so. I've never been attractive. You used to tease me about my big teeth and my bushy hair. Then since you accidentally shrunk my teeth, and what with growing up..."

Bloody hell, unattractive? The witch is feckin' daft.

"I am afraid I have become rather vain. I enjoyed thinking that Ron fancies me as more than a friend. I fancied thinking that Ron, any boy, moons over me - pure and chaste from afar. I enjoyed knowing there was more than one boy who thinks I'm worth having. I know that's stupid, but..."

Draco laughed a cruel little laugh. "Stupid?" Draco looked totally baffled by Hermione's confession. "Expecting a Weasley to be pure and chaste? That Weasley lot has more offspring than rabbits under a fertility charm, and you expect one of them to be capable of remaining chaste? Pardon my saying so but that is profoundly stupid, or at best, naive.

Oh Granger, why did you have to snog Weasley? That git who is so poor it's surprising he has two bollocks to rub together, much less two coins. Why didn't you snog Lavender or Parvati? I'd have made you repeat every bloody detail over and over and over again about your fleshy bits touching and your lips rubbing against each other... pink tongues and... and... where was I? Oh yes, and with every telling of the tale, the two of us could have a lovely nasty, tooth rattling snog that would leave us both of us moist and, and..." Draco lost track of his original focus again.

"Uh? Oh. Right. The Weasel. Well, I imagine it threw you for a dead loop that when you weren't available, old 'ginger-nuts Weasley' called in a reserve player - or two? Three? Hum? So, Granger," Draco said, sounding like Professor Binns requesting a conclusion to a lesson. "Give me your conclusion to all of this."

The question, threw Hermione for a loop. She hardly knew what to conclude when she sat up late each night replaying the horror that she could love Draco, and yet kiss Ron. Hermione did what she was best at. She answered intuitively, straight from her heart, straight down the wand.

"I was wrong Draco, I was mean. I didn't intend to be, but I was. I didn't see it that way until afterwards, but I was foolish, cruel; to Ron and to Harry. I acted as though I could jump all over them, treat them as children with no feelings. I owe Ron and Harry apologies. We're not children anymore. I can't go around throwing myself at boys without consequences. My innocent days of sitting in Harry's lap as brother and sister, back when we were innocent eleven year olds are over."

Draco eyebrows shot up.

Sat in Potter's lap? So the 'Boy Who Lived' may well have, at some point.

"Yes..." said Draco slowly. "Yes, yes, yes, you're oh so sorry for the trouble you caused your noble friends. How very caring. Anything else?"

Hermione fixed Draco with a stare that was so openly honest, so profoundly telling, she might not have actually spoken another word and Draco would have understood everything the girl wanted to tell him.

"I betrayed myself Draco. You are the one in my heart, and I cheated myself out of your trust and maybe even your love. Maybe I'll pay for my mistake, for the rest of my life."

They stood silent. Draco felt as though he had entered a place where time rested. He saw Hermione's words as beautiful a thing as he'd ever heard anyone say to him. It was as though she sang him a love song. Even in her transgression, she thought her 'sin' as betraying herself against what was firmly fixed in her heart - Draco.

But where time rested, old ideas did not rest for Draco; old ideas were compulsory. Hermione had a snog with the Weasel, and betrayed a Malfoy - an unpardonable lapse of witch conduct.

Draco recalled the day Snape made him and Hermione lab partners. As the class stood in the corridor, Hermione's arm lay protectively over the shoulders of Thongbottom because the chubby fool was frightened. That epitomized the girl. Enveloping those she befriended or loved, in her heart. Draco knew when the girl toppled onto Potter, gross a thought as it was; she was, as she told him, just as ikle and innocent as a firster. When she threw herself at the Weasel, she was just as innocent, until she had the audacity to give in to a moment's curiosity.

Draco knew he was just as guilty of such a behavior lapse; only days earlier when he attempted to steal a kiss from that vile boy-killer Messalina. He'd wickedly ground his hips against Zabini's lovely robed bum and enjoyed doing so. He enjoyed a stiffy over Zabini, a girl he totally had no love of, no desire for, and no need of, and just for the sake of giving in to a little gratuitous physical pleasure.

So what if Hermione kissed the git, or both gits for five minutes? For ten minutes? Draco knew he'd made a fool of himself in the closet with Messalina for a lot longer than ten minutes.

All Draco had to do was admit that not only was he not perfect, but Hermione, as loving as she was, wasn't perfect either. She as did Draco, made a mistake. Draco knew as sure as he knew what sat in the core of his heart and the core of his wand, that if he told Hermione about his closet adventures with Messalina, that she would forgive him, fly into his arms and they could enjoy a lovely make-up snog until owls came home to roost.

But forgiveness was not in the make up of a Malfoy. The senior Malfoy made that much clear to his son. What was forgivable in a wizard, what was forgivable in a pureblood, what was forgivable in the privileged, was not forgivable in the lowly, a muggleborn, a witch.

Lucius told his son, "Draco my boy, some day you'll discover that having a witch in your life is like bargaining in Diagon Alley for a prime postal owl. You have to be willing to walk away from the deal at the drop of a pointed hat."

Easy for his father to say. If your owl died, you went out and bought another. Lucius did not see fit to warn his son what an aggravating balancing act it could be to have someone you cared about in your life. Frankly, Hermione was a greater pain in the arse than Draco ever could have imagined, all because he loved her. If he hadn't loved her things would be easier, he could toss her away the way he did Messalina, Blaise, Pansy and the others. Simply toss the girl out on her lovely ear.

"Draco?" asked Hermione in a small pitable voice. The two stood staring at each other for many minutes. "A Knut for your thoughts?"

The sound of Hermione's voice hit Draco like cold water splashed onto his face.

"Hermione," Draco said in a nasty voice. "Perfectly logical story you presented. You, kissing you best friends, my worst enemies. A fellow expects as much."

"Draco, please, I know how it sounded..."

"One more interruption and out you go, got that?" Draco made the little threat although possessed no desire to carry it out. He carried out many dictates that he did not want to honor but felt compelled to. "So, I imagine you want to cancel the whole spell breaking experiment..."

Hermione shook her head vehemently, afraid to speak and interrupt Draco. She desperately wanted to free Draco from the spell, no matter what passed between them.

"Fine. If you still wish, you can try and find a way to relieve me of this smegging spell that my father and the Dark Lord worked out so conveniently for their own needs. Work with Potter if you wish."

Draco took a step towards Hermione and placed both hands on her shoulders, which filled Hermione with false hope for the outcome.

"Granger," said Draco. All hope within Hermione withered. "You must understand that any effort to dissolve the spell places my life in grave jeopardy. I'm not speaking figuratively, or allegorically, I might actually die. But my every instinct tells me death beats the crap out of allowing the Dark Lord's ceremony to take place. I do not enjoy being used as a slave and I do not want to be continue being the Dark Lord's power bank. The decision to allow you to help me is entirely mine. You had nothing to do with my decision. You did not coerce me into the decision. Is that clearly understood by you? My decision."

Draco peered deeply into Hermione's eyes, and the girl gave him a shallow nod. However angry Draco was, he concerned and wanted her to know that he absolved her of any guilt should her efforts result, indirectly or otherwise, in his death.

Removing his hands from her shoulders Draco said, "If our relationship continues, it will do so if and when I decide whether to forgive you." His statement was even too much for him. Draco circled his desk a couple of times before he perched on his desk, arms folded.

Hermione nodded again, "I still want to try to break your spell. We can do it."

"From now on, we only meet as necessary. You have anything to tell me, send me an owl. I will meet you and Potter tomorrow morning at the hideaway. Eight o'clock. After my team morning practice."

"Thank you Draco, Thank you so much," said Hermione, profoundly relived that he wasn't going deny her the chance to save his life.

"One more thing before I ask you to leave," Draco's face relaxed into cruel smile and he drawled, "Granger... what did you do with it?"

"What did I do with what Draco?"

"My willie of course." Pulling open the front of his tracksuit trousers, Draco peered in. "No wait! Here it is." He reached deep into his trousers and apparently grabbed and shook the 'recovered' appendage. "Silly me. Still here after all."

Allowing his elastic waistband to snap shut, Draco walked to the door and stood back from it. "Leave now Granger. My willie and I want to be alone. We haven't had much time together since you started sawing away at it."

Hermione turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Alone in his office, Draco stood, reminding himself that he had to face his team in a few minutes. He was no git and wasn't about to give into sentimentality. In all likelihood he would have to kick lots of arse over the coming week to keep balance. He would even have to schedule extra practices just to make sure he got enough arse-kicking in before game time. He knew balance was all. And his current loss of balance was all the fault of Granger, always putting her stupid muggleborn nose where it didn't belong - that lovely little turned up, muggleborn, swot nose.

There was a scuttling noise at the office door. Draco saw a small glitter at the base of his office door. He went over and picked up the object - the little ruby and gold ring he had specially made for Hermione and had presented her with only the previous weekend.

Hermione was returning his ring. The girl was giving up on him. Draco was far more touched than he could ever have imagined by Hermione's gesture, and felt sick to his stomach. For the first time in years his eyes welled up with tears and angrily he wiped them away.

Fuck crying. Malfoys don't cry, it isn't profitable and it doesn't feed the dragon.

Now the witch had him practically growing tits and doing so here in the fortress of testosterone! Draco pulled open his tracksuit trousers and snarled angrily and sarcastically into them.

"Thanks to that bloody, two-timing witch, it's a wonder there's anything left in my trousers but I must say, what is left is staggeringly magnificent. Hang in boys - Daddy loves you."

He crossed over to his desk and took up his wand. He held the ring up and watched the tiny Slytherin snake biting the rampant Gryffindor lion on the arse. He managed a sarcastic chuckle and held the ring to his ear to hear the golden lion roar when the tiny platinum snake bit its bum. Draco held the ring at arm's length, murmured a few words and hit the ring with a spell from his wand.

He put his wand down and peered closely at the ring. As the snake lunged to sting the Gryffindor lion on the arse, the lion roared, and grasped the snake around its middle and bit until the snake's heart spilled out of its chest. Draco watched as the lion cruelly bit the snake over and over again. Then the sequence began again as the snake lunged.

"There. That's closer to truth," said Draco, and he left to tend to his team.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was twenty years after graduation and Draco Malfoy, wealthiest wizard alive and president of the World Quidditch Federation, was as always extremely busy. He looked about his well-appointed Diagon Alley penthouse office and called out, "Are you done sweetheart?" He looked around. "Honey, Mr. Ron Weasley will be here any minute now."

A voice called from under Draco's desk.

"He's already here dear," said Messalina. The years had not passed for the still beautiful Messalina. She crawled out from under the desk, pulling up her knickers and straightening and buttoned her blouse. She pulled a chair up to Malfoy's desk and pulled out her Quick Quotes Quill. "Testing... one, two, three."

Ronald Weasley climbed out from under Draco's desk after Messalina. "Hello Malfoy." Ron tucked his massive and, cumbersome... member... into his y-fronts and pulled up his jeans. Ron was having a great deal of trouble zipping up his jeans. "Drat my enormous manhood," said Weasley. "So, Malfoy, how's it been?"

"Well, to be truthful it's been rather limp for the past twenty years. I believe it shrinks a little every day, but otherwise things are fine Weasley. Please, take a seat," said Draco. "I'm only interviewing you as a favor to an old friend of the family," Draco opened his chest and removed his throbbing heart. "My heart still beats for her. Mind, I don't hold a grudge that you ripped her out of my life. Hermione's been your loving wife now for twenty years, ever since you two married during our fifth year at Hogwarts. No grudges that you stole my Petals, my ex-girlfriend, the love of my life, my good friend, my best beloved, my sweetie, my former bitch."

"You're a sport Malfoy," said Ron Weasley, shaking his head of thick red hair. "Shame you went bald Malfoy. Anyway, you know Hermione thinks about you all the time. Hermione will pick up a thin little pencil, wave the thing around and say, 'look! Here's Malfoy's pitiful pee-pee!' Laughs her head off. She does that every time we have sex. We think of you all the time. Sometimes ten or eleven times a day. She especially laughs if the pencil is really short, you know. So short you can hardly get a grip on it..."

"Yes, fine."

"All of the children of my loins and Hermione's ripe female womb admire their 'Uncle 'Wee-Willie' Malfoy'. There's our little Ronald Jr., little Hermione, little Harry, all the triplets, the three sets of quads, and especially all the sets of twins Holly and Molly, Jerry and Terry, John and Don, Polly and Holly, and..."

"I get the gist of it Weasley," said Draco awkwardly. "You still live in...?"

"In a rusty old biscuit tin in my parent's back yard. Great living close to Mom. Free babysitting you know. Gives me and the Mrs. more time for the old rumpy-pumpy. Never enough of that you know!" Weasley laughed and slapped his knee.

"Right Weasley. So may I ask, how many children do you have now? Fourteen...?"

"No, that's not exactly right, we're up one. Between Hermione and I we have fifteen dozen children now."

"You know, I have wondered how yourself and Hermione have managed to have so very many children in such a short period of time."

"Oh, Hermione and I have our children under a pyramid scheme." Weasley winked.

"Fine. I don't think I need to hear the details of that." Draco shifted uncomfortably. "So, Weasley, let's get down to business. Now your credentials Weasley. As the head Hogwarts trustee, I understand Hogwarts has a new wing dedicated to your lovely family?"

"Well," Weasley scratched his head. "I don't know as I'd say the wing is dedicated to my family... it's more like all the children in that particular wing are Weasleys so they call it the Weasley wing. I believe you donated all the money built the new wing. Didn't you Malfoy?"

"Oh yes. I forgot."

"Thanks Malfoy, that was proper decent of you."

"Well, after your progeny began to flood Hogwarts with their presence, we had twenty children to a dorm room and dozens of children living in tents by Hagrid's hut, a new wing seemed the least I could do for the progeny of my hated enemy."

"Potter?"

"No, 'hated enemy' that would be you Weasley," said Draco. "Now. Why do you want to work for the World Quidditch Federation Mr. Weasley?"

"We'd like to be able to eat. Regular like."

"Good goal, I can tell you put a great deal of thought into it". Draco turned to his wife Messalina. " Did you get all that down dear?"

"Yes, I got it all down, every drop of it," said Messalina. She stood up from Weasley's crotch, straightened her hair and moved back over to her chair. She wiped her mouth with a handkerchief and looked thoughtfully at Ron. "Weasley? Would you consider having yet another wife? You are simply the most incredible man I've ever had the pleasure to blow me down but you are wonderful."

"Well," said Weasley thoughtfully. "There is a waiting list, but as a friend of the family I might be able to squeeze you in. How quickly can you divorce old pencil shaft here?" Weasley winked at Messalina and pointed to Draco who now stood on top of his desk and was the size of a hamster.

"Oh Ronnikins," squealed Messalina happily. "I filed divorce papers on Mr. Teeny Weenie here two years ago when you invited me on that sexcapade in Paris. Old Pinkie Prick Malfoy and I are actually already divorced. I can go home with you today. Fancy a little slap and tickle right now my true love?"

"Sure, come on Messie, under the desk with you!"

Weasley and the ex-Mrs. Malfoy crawled under Draco's desk. Tiny little Mr. Draco Malfoy could hear loud moans and squishy wet sensuous noises rising up from under his desk. Draco now shrank to the size of an emaciated bumblebee, a eunuch bumblebee.

Loud banging noise set up from under the desk, as the action beneath the desk intensified. Bang, bang, bang! The desk vibrated from the action beneath.

"But the interview isn't over yet," shouted the distraught voice of wee Draco. The desk vibrations knocked him over and he began to roll towards the edge of the desk.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

"Weasley! This just isn't fair old fellow! You stole my last five wives this same way, and you promised you wouldn't do it again! Take Messalina if you want her, but PLEASE, give me back my Hermione! You have sixteen wives besides Granger, why do you need her too? Can't I have my Petals back? PLEASE?" Draco teetered at the edge of the desk, he was going to fall off. The desk rattled as the sound of loud orgasmic moans rose from under the desk, and Draco fell off into the void...

Draco rolled out of his four-poster and hit the floor with a loud crash. He flayed and rolled around in the bed sheets and finally untangled himself. His heart beat like a taiko drum, and he was covered in sweat. In a panic, he ripped away the bed sheets, and looked at his willie; it was still there, and thank Merlyn, it was way bigger than a pencil.

Bloody hell... I think I'm going to miss the damned disembowelment dreams. My life so sucks.

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