Draco's Delicate Condition

Chapter 13 -The Fireball's Tail

In the wee hours of Saturday morning Malfoy lay in an infirmary bed, helpless, and still as death. It was a strange thing how Draco, who at one time or another, harassed, beat up, aggravated, molested, tricked, thieved, humiliated and otherwise committed numerous transgressions against his fellow students, somehow managed to command some level of their respect. Knowing Draco was much the same as being bitten on the arse by a Bull Terrier - however else you felt about the dog, all things being equal, you had to respect those teeth. There was much evidence that many would miss Draco's attentions, both positive and negative. So it was that most of Slytherin, and the Dawn Brawn fanciers, and several of Draco's professors, kept vigil over the gravely injured boy.

All right. To be totally honest, there were some students who did not like or respect Draco one whit. But those students too attended the vigil over Draco. They had no wish to find themselves on the wrong end of the wrath of Crabbe or Goyle, much less that of Augustus McIntyre.

Severus Snape sat on a hard chair, on the opposite side of Draco's bed from Hermione and Harry. Snape's face looked even more lugubrious than usual, absolutely funereal.

Hermione sat numb and miserable. She silently watched her evil Slytherin boyfriend lying prostrate and unrecognizable on the bed before her. Draco was covered from head to toe in magical plasters, the results of Madame Pomfrey's medi-magic skills.

By Hermione's side, slumped on the floor sat Harry. Harry was near as worried about Draco's chances for survival as was Hermione. Harry prayed to whatever entity he held dear that Malfoy would live.

Not to give the wrong impression, were Harry thinking only of himself, and if Malfoy died, Harry would wait out a required period of mourning. Then, the day after mourning officially ended, Harry would lead a round of wild jigs and purchase butterbeer by the lorry-load for all of Gryffindor house. But Harry was nothing if not fiercely loyal and he cared enough about Hermione to not want her devastated by the death of the obnoxiously evil Slytherin.

But as yet, Draco was alive, but only just so. That he was alive at all was entirely due to Snape.

Snape reviewed the horrifying moments after the lightning strike in his mind. He recalled the entire 'incident' as a series of flashed images; the blinding white light after which Draco's Quidditch uniform exploded into flames like fireworks. The Hogwarts lake growing large as he sped towards it, Draco in his arms, and not breathing. The waters engulfing them as he plunged with Draco into the cold lake waters, with a splash that would have done justice to a breeching blue whale. The dark sky as he looped back up to the lake's surface, and the immense relief as he heard the boy gasp for breath after the frigid lake waters shocked Draco's system and he began to breathe again. The black, sodden clothing, burnt to Draco's skin, no longer smoking after emerging from the waters. Staring at the sky, waiting for someone to take the limp boy from his arms.

Though Draco was hours into his infirmary stay, Snape had only just arrived. Albus Dumbledore leaned down to speak into Snape's ear, no doubt offering words of courage.

From across the pale prostrate boy, Harry watched Professor Snape and Dumbledore, noting with extreme dismay that the headmaster's eyes were strangely dull behind the half moon spectacles.

Dumbledore told Snape it was Snape's efforts that not only saved the boy, but offered the boy his one chance of survival. Snape had prepared a healing draught, the Lacerta potion, which now sat by Draco's bedside table on top of a thick tile. The heavy potion made thick bubbling noises like boiling mud and added to the heavy gloom of the occasion. The draught took Snape only a few short hours to prepare - a miracle in itself because the potion normally required a full day's preparation and it was a tribute to Snape's skill that he used every shortcut, every trick of the trade to prepare the draught in only a fraction of the usual time.

A fresh Lacerta draught only retained its healing powers for a window of ten hours.

The tricky, short-lived draught was not all that pressed on Snape's mind. The draught only worked on an alert patient; no magic could cause the draught to work its wonders on a comatose patient. Draco must wake. Even now, sitting by Draco's bedside, Snape ran through his mind the ingredients for the potion he produced and the pharmacopoeia of ingredients he had assembled. He brooded, critical of his own preparations, mulling over whether he had added each ingredient with proper timing, with the correct spells spoken with the precisely required cadence. Snape fretted, knowing if he had failed to get one quirk of the Lacerta Draught correct, there was no hope. He was like one of his own students, reviewing a completed class exam, wondering if he passed with full marks. Students would have been amazed their fastidious, Potions Professor would judge himself by harsher measures than he used for his unfortunate students.

When Dumbledore stepped back from Professor Snape, the professor again saw flashes of the horrifying hours leading up to his sitting bedside in the infirmary. He saw in his mind's eye, another teacher who arrived on the scene at the lake, where soaking wet and shivering, Snape balanced the Draco on the borrowed broomstick.

"SNAPE!" Professor Tinselmark called out to Snape as a host of frightened Slytherin and Hufflepuff team members pulled in behind the professors. The professors and students briefly hovered low over the lake waters. "How is Malfoy? Are you alright?"

Snape screamed. "Get this boy to the infirmary straight away!"

Snape had lifted the limp, unresponsive Draco up to Tinselmark without magic. As soon as Snape's arms were empty he shot out of the water and barreled along on the Nimbus, through the rain, headed for his dungeons and his storerooms and a long night of potion making.

Snape was long gone when Professor Tinselmark and the others delivered Draco to Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing. Tinselmark commented, "A... strange... wizard, that Professor Snape. Didn't even stay long enough to see the Malfoy boy was all right. He hasn't even come to see the boy made it here alive. He hasn't even asked after Abbott."

Madame Pomfrey gave Tinselmark a disapproving look and clucked her tongue. "You've taken the gauge of Professor Snape with a poor measuring stick Professor," said Madame Pomfrey, quickly defending Snape's actions. "A poor measuring stick indeed."

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was as long a day as Ron could remember. Classes in the morning followed by hours and hours in the stadium during the battle between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. The action during the game was brutal, what with cheering in the aisles, toasting with pumpkin juice until he felt ill and jumping up and down on a belly full of curried chips. And yet, that was the relaxing part of Ron's day. There was also the horrifying moment when he ran across Messalina, and realized the girl was occasionally 'with' Seamus Finnegan in the crudest sense. But that was hours ago and it was now closer to dawn than midnight. Ron looked like a soldier returning from a lost war, his clothing torn, wet and dirty. His trainers and his shirt were soiled with blood that may have been his own or that of Seamus Finnegan. Ron tracked muddy footprints up the steps of Gryffindor Tower and stood looking glumly up at the Pink Lady in the portrait. He gloomily muttered to her the Gryffindor password.

"Happy, happy times."

"My dear boy", the Pink Lady said in a shocked and sympathetic voice. "Are you aware your face is... a bit off?" Ron gave the pink lady a nasty look but said nothing. 'Tut, tut, tutting' the Pink Lady swung her portrait back and allowed Ron entrance.

Ron was a little disappointed when he made it to the dorm room and realized Harry had yet to return. He rightly figured that Harry was keeping Hermione company over Malfoy in the infirmary. Dean and Neville were all ready tucked into their four-posters. The two boys loudly lamented the disappointing ending to the Slytherin/Hufflepuff debacle. They were not as disappointed that Malfoy and Abbott were injured, as they were that the highly anticipated Quidditch match had ended in a draw. The two boys looked up when Ron entered.

"Ron," Dean called out. "You look like shite mate. You did go to the infirmary after that row with Seamus, didn't you?"

"No, not that it's any of your business," Ron answered in a nasty voice.

Dean bristled. "Well, if you're going to be a prat to what few friends you have left, then maybe you deserved what you got." Grumbling, Dean pulled his duvet over his head.

"Dean, did you have a go with Messalina too?" There was no reason for Ron to assume such a thing but he was still feeling up to a row.

"You'll save yourself a great deal of time," Dean growled from beneath the bedclothes. "If you look for lads who haven't had a go at Messalina."

After pitching a shoe at Dean, Ron mulled over Dean's sensible suggestion. Sullen, and feeling quite sorry for himself, Ron crossed the room to his own four-poster by his wardrobe. He pulled open the wardrobe door and stood with his eyes shut. Mustering his courage, Ron slowly opened his eyes and looked into his small dressing mirror hanging inside the wardrobe door. For the first time since the fight Ron looked at his own freckled face and hardly recognized himself.

"Here boy, what's this then?" asked the startled mirror, rattling on its hook from the shock of seeing Ron's injured face. "Did you get the collar number off the dragon what ran you over?"

"Shut up!" Ron snapped grumpily, but he could not fault the mirror on its hasty appraisal.

"Here now boy, let's have none of that. Been to the infirmary?"

Ron said softly. "No, I didn't go to the infirmary. Had an awful fight with Seamus, over..."

"Yes, yes, over a girl," the mirror sighed in exasperation. "Why else would two healthy young Gryffindor boys fight? There, now tell your old mirror all about it."

Ron looked embarrassed. "Right after I... after I won the fight..." Ron's look dared the mirror to disagree with his assessment. "Harry, Ginny... Hermione... wanted me to go to the infirmary." Ron looked into the mirror and gingerly touched one of the angry red welts on his forehead. He winced in pain. "I don't know. I didn't feel like going there. Wanted to be alone, to walk. I felt better walking alone, you know?"

"As anyone can see. Go on," encouraged the mirror.

"I ditched the others. Wandered around under the stadium. I was under the stadium scaffolding, somewhere near the Slytherin locker room, you know? And I heard some funny... noises." Ron's face crinkled up and his voice caught. "At first I thought the noise was Fang. He gets away from Hagrid sometimes you know. Fang gets a snoot full of grass and breaths all queer. Then I..." Ron hesitated.

"Let's get it all out of your system boy. Your tale is safe with me. I am the very image of discretion."

"The noises, it was them." Ron's face momentarily scrunched up. That fecking Malfoy, having a snog with poor Hermione! Why did I have to hear that?" Ron's voice broke, and he cleared his throat and gamely continued. "What was the point of me running across those two - doing things - to each other? Why would Hermione... want to kiss that filthy...? Did you think maybe I saw them so I would finally get it into my thick head, that I have no chance with Hermione? Not now, not ever?"

"It's what you see that matters," said the mirror.

"After I heard that bastard Malfoy and poor Hermione, I ran out into the rain. Got sick all over my shoes." Ron's tongue still tasted sour. He whispered. "I ran for a bit. Ducked for shelter under the Hufflepuff section of the stadium. I was freezing!" Ron sneezed violently as if to put proof on his claims.

"The spitting imagine of the Weasley clan you are," said the mirror sympathetically. "On reflection, it seems like only yesterday your brothers Bill, and later Charlie, poured out their hearts to me. And even ages before that it was Arthur Weasley, the boy; carrying on and on and on, every bloody day about the same girl. I believe her name was 'Polly' or 'Molly'. Keep talking boy."

Ron shrugged unconcernedly. "After I left where Hermione and Malfoy were... you know... I walked for a long time. I walked under the stadium stands. The match hadn't started back up yet. I thought I was being followed. Thought it might be Ginny. Then I sort of hoped..."

"You hoped the Granger witch had followed you?"

Ron nodded. "But it wasn't her either." Ron stood tall and brushed back his red hair in an effort to improve the pitiful picture of himself reflected in the mirror.

"Who was it then?"

"Well," Ron whispered as quietly as he could. "It was a girl."

"Another girl? A different girl?" The mirror sounded both amazed and impressed. "My lad, truly, you are a reflection of the Weasley clan. Go on. Tell me, is she a nice young witch?"

Ron nodded. "It's late. I'm tired."

"There boy, are you feeling better now?" queried the wardrobe mirror. "Any other reflections to share?"

"That's all," said Ron.

"Right," said the mirror with disappointment. "Remember boy. I'm always hanging around if you need to talk"

"Yeah, thanks," said Ron. He removed his dressing gown and pyjamas from the wardrobe and took off to the showers. Being the middle of the night, and several hours after the ending of the Hufflepuff Slytherin match, Ron had the boy's showers to himself. The hot water stung his bruises but in a rather strangely soothing way.

As Ron soaped himself, his cheeks burned to think by breakfast time everyone at Hogwarts, from Dumbledore down to Mrs. Norris, would know of his battle with Seamus. He thought back to earlier in the night when that girl stepped out of the shadows under the stadium and commented on his fight with Seamus. He tried his best to chase her away with nastiness and cold sarcastic comments, but she would not be scared off. She stayed and coaxed him into letting her practice her fledgling medi-magic on the open cuts on his forehead. Now, as Ron stood in the shower stall, letting the water run over himself, his eyes shut, he thought of the witch's hand steadying his chin as she worked on his bruised forehead and cheekbones. Ron lathered up a flannel and again soaped himself down. Ron blushed as it occurred to him there was no way his personal bits required quite so much... attention with flannel or soap. But there was something about thinking about witches in general, and something about thinking on that one plucky witch with her healing hands in particular, that kept Ron's soapy flannel engaged beyond what time was needed to simply cleanse himself.

When Ron returned to his four-poster, fresh, very fresh, and clean, he was completely rid of his sour mood. He threw himself into his four-poster and snuggled under his duvet. His thoughts returned to the 'new' girl as she tended to his cuts and bruises. Again Ron's cheeks pinked. He smiled as he discovered his hand had almost unbidden, found its way into his pyjama trousers. Perhaps after such a long and trying day a nice pull on the pud was just the thing to send him off to a good night's sleep. Ron smiled. He had not expected to smile again until at least until seventh year.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Early Saturday morning, only three hours after the accident, Madame Hooch returned to the near empty Quidditch stadium headed for her office. Hooch was a bit of a night owl and the dead of night was a good time catching up on her paperwork. As she rounded the corner to her office she was dumbfounded to hear through the persistent rain, the faint noise of students arguing in the rain. As she neared her office she could make out what appeared to be most of Slytherin and Hufflepuff teams yelling at each other at the top of their lungs to be heard over the rainstorm. To insure they were understood they stood wildly articulating their arms and jabbing at each other. Bristling with annoyance, Hooch held up her hands, silencing the tired, and squabbling team members.

"All of you, stop! You heard me, stop that!" Hooch kept her hands up, while looking at all the assembled faces - tired and red eyed to the last. "The game has been over for hours! If you have any questions about Professor Snape's detentions or points taken from Slytherin and Hufflepuff, you will have to take that up with him. Now, off to the locker rooms with you. Hot showers and off to your dormitories! Right now, move along now. You lot look like half drowned cats!"

"Miss," Captain Brockland walked up to Hooch with a dead serious look on his face. "We have to finish the match."

"Finish the...?" Hooch marveled how just when she thought she'd heard it all, the students inevitably found new inspiration to egg her toward either an early retirement or a padded cell in St. Mungos. "Mr. Brockland, I can't believe my ears. Mr. Malfoy and Miss Abbott are lying in the infirmary and you stand there talking of finishing the match?"

All of the students were crowded around Hooch now.

"That's just the point Miss." Brockland already sounded assured he would have his way. "We'll finish the match for Abbott and the little shi... and for Malfoy. Captain Malfoy. Miss, you know they would want a proper finish to their work, wouldn't they? Wouldn't want to have suffered for nothing, would they?"

Prophetically, a bolt of lighting boomed overhead and filled the air with the scent of ozone.

Hooch pulled her hood tighter and looked at the expectant faces of the two teams. "You are all obviously tired and not thinking straight." Hooch spoke slowly. It was obvious to her, the intelligence levels of her students had dropped under the stress of the long match and foul weather. "Surely you realize neither Slytherin, nor Hufflepuff have seekers. Do you understand? Quidditch cannot be played without seekers: no seekers, no match. Now there's an end to it. We will reschedule and finish the match after the Christmas holidays..." Hooch added hopefully, "...when Abbott and Malfoy are up and about.

"There is a replacement Slytherin seeker," came a voice from behind the mass of Slytherin boys.

As Hooch watched, the crowd of tall Slytherin boys moved one at a time as someone shorter than them, moved from their rear, through their midst. The scene gave Hooch the impression of a leopard moving unseen through a thick growth of tall grass. Only the movement of the grass gave away the location of the predator. The predator stepped through and forcefully pushed past the Slytherin boys - Messalina Zabini.

"Seeker, that would be me," said Messalina with confidence. She tossed back her rain-slicked hair. "Everyone knows the only reason I am not already the Slytherin reserve seeker is because Malfoy refused to allow a witch on 'his' team. Especially a girl as good a seeker as he is." That Malfoy was lying close to death did nothing to put the girl off of her opinions. There was much grumbling by the Slytherin team who viewed Draco as a hero.

"With Malfoy 'out', Madame Hooch, you have the authority to place me on the Slytherin team. Please do so." Messalina's statement sounded less like a request, than an order.

Hooch stared at the indomitable, the vexing, Miss Zabini. Years of patience learned at Hogwarts removed the temptation from Hooch to run a pike through the girl. Hooch sighed heavily. In all likelihood, there was little need to argue with the determined Slytherin girl, particularly if the Hufflepuff replacement seeker was also - as the old goblin homily went - 'pulled fresh out of the Boggart's arse'.

Hooch asked loudly and sarcastically, "and the Hufflepuff replacement is...?" She looked around past the students. "Ah, no Hufflepuff seeker floating about? Is my assessment correct? Well then. As I said before, no seekers, no match. You will recall that I used the plural, no seekers, no..."

"No problem," came a voice, from behind Hooch's back where stood the Hufflepuff team. Wheeling about on the wet grass, Hooch attempted to match the voice to one of the Hufflepuff faces but could not. "Who said that?"

"I did," said Ginny Weasley peeking out from behind a Hufflepuff boy. As Ginny stepped out from the crowd of Hufflepuff, she rapidly spat words so as to have her say before Hooch could stop her. "I've made a study of Quidditch rules. In Quidditch: The Game and the Rules, volume 2, chapter 18, page 366..."

"Right smart little bird is Miss Weasley there," interrupted Brockland, who stood beside Hooch. He winked at Ginny.

Either the interruption, the wink, or both, nearly caused Ginny to loose track of her little speech.

"In... in the occasion such as a team's seeker is injured or otherwise removed from a match prior to completion of said match, and if there is no reserve seeker or the team reserve seeker is also injured or otherwise out of the match, a temporary and unbiased seeker from another team or club may be named by the referee to play seeker for the seeker-bereft team, for the purpose of completion of the match..."

"Miss Weasley," said Hooch. "Very impressive dear. I'm sure you realize Quidditch: The Game and the Rules governs professional teams."

Ginny nodded. Her cloak hood fell back and she ignored the rain pelting her head.

"That is to say Miss Weasley, the those rules govern professional Quidditch teams, not the teams of educational institutions like Hogwarts."

All around Hooch, Slytherin and Hufflepuff faces fell like the aftermath of oven doors opened on half-baked soufflés.

"What a cauldron full of Jarvey poo." Messalina marched over. She turned her back to Ginny and addressed Hooch directly. "Who cares about some stupid rulebook? Just let Weasley here play for Hufflepuff. What difference does it make if she is on Hufflepuff, Slytherin or the Kilkenny Kelpies? It's getting late. Let's get the match re-started. I'm missing out on my beauty sleep."

Ginny bit her tongue and glared at Messalina.

Both teams began to shout their support for Ginny flying replacement seeker for Hufflepuff. The Slytherin were particularly loud. After all, the possession of swank Starsotz 6000s still hung in the balance.

In the face of more than a dozen shouting students, and with a weary sigh Madame Hooch caved. "All of you, dry up! I've made up my mind. The match will be resumed."

The students broke into cheers and a many pulled their wands, shooting glittering sparkles into the rainy sky. A sprinkle of blue, green, and silver sparkles sizzled and popped in the rain overhead and floated wetly down upon their heads.

"Put those wands away!" Hooch shouted. "I won't have sparkles flying about my stadium like rabid fairies! You are all mental if you think the match will be played tonight! I won't have you lot filling Pomfrey's infirmary, begging Pepper Up Potion. You all need your rest. Sunday morning will be soon enough for a rematch. And..." Hooch's citrine eyes glowing like those of an enraged eagle. "I'll only allow three hours of match time. I will NOT be talked into one minute more. The match is on for Sunday morning unless you all annoy me and I change my mind. Now, get yourselves to the castle, it's nearly dawn. Go on, all of you, go!"

"Three hours," said Brockland tilting his head as though he had gone suddenly deaf in one ear. "Why only three hours?"

Hooch reverted to basic language known and used by magical and muggle parents the world over.

"BECAUSE I SAID SO! With that, Hooch headed for her office.

The two teams congratulated themselves and took a few minutes to threaten the opposition before heading back to their respective locker rooms.

Ginny stood to the rear, quite shaken with the frightening wonderful news that she would be able to have a turn at flying seeker. She turned to leave and found herself facing a number of the Slytherin team and Messalina who looked thoroughly bored.

Ginny looked at the taller girl. Feeling her oats, Ginny said in a loud defiant voice, "Zabini, I am so going to kick your Ron-shagging, two-timing arse, you shallow, base-minded Slytherin scut." Ginny smiled.

The long, long list of adjectives one could use to describe Messalina included 'cool'. The chestnut haired beauty did not as much as bat a sooty lashed eye. "Save it for the pitch Weasley," she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. Messalina walked off with the Slytherin boys scrambling alongside of her like puppies that thought she might be carrying their dinner dishes.

Finding it difficult to come to grips with the self-assured Slytherin, Ginny turned to head for the castle and found herself face to face with Captain Brockland.

"I do love to watch healthy lasses unsheathing their claws. Now, Miss Weasley. It's dark," said Brockland stating the obvious. "I'll walk you to the castle."

"Thank you, but that's not necessary," said Ginny, muttering so softly that Brockland didn't catch a word she said. That was no never mind to Brockland however; he reacted as though he had heard. He placed his arm across Ginny's shoulders and led her away. The two walked in silence until they were back safe in the castle, puddles of rainwater dogging their every footstep.

"I'll take you up to Gryffindor Commons Miss," said Brockland politely. "That was a grand idea of yours, volunteering to act our seeker and all. Everyone on the team is grateful to you. Would have been a bit of a disappointment to send the Diggorys Apparating home come Sunday night without completing the match in their Cedric's name." Brockland held his arm over Ginny's shoulders as he led her up the long Gryffindor Tower staircases that lead to the Gryffindor Commons. "I'm curious Miss. Why do you care if Hufflepuff and Slytherin finish their match? What's in it for Gryffindor. What's in it for you?"

Ginny squeaked in a voice so soft, a mouse perched on Ginny's shoulder would have had to prick up its ears to hear her. "I am not being... generous. Not really. I'm being selfish." Ginny kept her eyes glued to the stairs they climbed.

"Selfish? Was that selfish you said? A sweet angel like you, selfish?" asked Brockland, taken aback by Ginny's words. "Can't imagine a pretty little red-haired miss like you being selfish about anything."

They reached the seventh floor of the Gryffindor Tower and walked along the darkened corridor.

Ginny took a deep breath and blurted out, "my brothers all play Quidditch. Want to show them I can do something they can't - fly Seeker. It's silly, I know. A 'brother, sister' thing. Being on the Gryffindor team with Potter..." Ginny's hesitated. "With Potter I'll never see any... action." Ginny gave a nervous sidelong glance to Brockland.

"Action?" asked Brockland brightly.

They had arrived at the portrait of the pink lady.

"Good heavens," said the Pink Lady annoyed from being woken, yet again by another red-haired Weasley. "Get rid of that Hufflepuff lad, and give me the password girl."

"Shush," Brockland said to the portrait. He took Ginny's chin in his hand. He moved his face so close to Ginny she could feel his hot, but rather sweet breath against her forehead.

"Action," said Ginny now speaking rapidly from nerves. "I mean with Potter as our seeker, even if I were Gryffindor reserve seeker, I would never see any action."

"If it's action you're wanting, I can help you with that." With a firm grasp of Ginny, Brockland kissed the nervous girl in the leisure manner of a boy who had the honor of pressing his lips upon Ginny's on several occasions. For the record, he had not. Ginny had never been kissed in such a forward manner. Ginny had seldom been kissed at all. She only just managed to not gasp or squeak from surprise. It was several minutes before the daring captain released his hold on her. When he released Ginny she was trembling all the more and she gasped for her breath like a netted guppy.

"Get some rest Ginny," said Brockland helpfully. That said, and giving a pleasant smile, he strode away and back down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower, leaving Ginny red cheeked, giddy and confused with a jumble of conflicting thoughts.

~*~*~*~*~*~

So it was, at long last Draco drew the sort of bedside vigil he'd always envied Harry Potter for and somewhat capriciously wished for himself. And now Draco's wish had come true, it was his damnable luck he was comatose and unable to enjoy the outpouring of concern, and even some adoration afforded him by his classmates.

Professor Snape sat at Draco's bedside. He was tense, he held his lips pressed so tightly together, they went white; he resembled an upright corpse. A second batch of the Lacerta Draught sat poised, bubbling on the bedside stand. In only a couple of hours the Lacerta Draught would become pointless, more useful in its secondary application as a seasonal rose tonic for the Hogwarts rose garden than as a potent healing solution for Draco Malfoy. Nearby students could hear Snape begin to gutturally mumble what they assumed were prayers to some deity that had miraculously commanded Snape's respect. And they were of course wrong. Snape fussed to himself because the dratted Gryffindor muggleborn know-it-all, Granger kept up a ceaseless rabbiting that sporadically disturbed Snape's train of thought.

Hermione sat nearby, still limp on her chair. "Draco," she croaked. "Draco, please, wake up. Snape can save you but only if you wake very, very soon." The sensible Gryffindor witch reasoned with the floating comatose boy. To protect Draco's skin from additional damage, Madame Pomfrey, like Professor Snape, had used every trick she had gleaned in her long years as Hogwarts medi-witch. Under Pomfrey's spell Draco floated a few inches above his bed so no bedding touched his charmed plasters that protected his damaged skin. The plasters covered him nearly completely; head to toe, protecting Draco's burned skin - where he still had skin.

Although many Slytherin threatened, or pleaded with Hermione, no one could get the girl to stop her continual prattle. Hermione's chatter only ceased on the occasions that she fell asleep sitting up on her chair, her hazel eyes sad beneath half closed lids.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning on Hermione, patting her hand and occasionally whispering to her. "Hermione," Harry said. "You know Malfoy wouldn't want you taking on so." Harry's words were sweet. Harry's words, as he believed it, were patently untrue. Harry actually believed that Malfoy would have given his blessings to Hermione flinging herself onto Draco's funeral pyre after dancing a dirge.

Harry rose to his knees and spoke softly. "Hermione? I don't know. Maybe Malfoy can hear you. But even if he can hear you, he..." There was much potential for Harry's words to hurt Hermione and he chose them carefully. He wanted Hermione prepared so she wouldn't lose her mind if the unthinkable happened. He took up Hermione's shaking hand and giving it a squeeze spoke softly. "Burns are terribly painful. If Malfoy... goes... without regaining consciousness maybe it is a sort of a blessing. You know how much Malfoy detested.... detests pain. You don't want Malfoy to be in pain, do you?"

"Silence Potter!" growled Snape, fixing Harry with a hateful stare. "Miss Granger, be still. Save your energies to assist me when Mr. Malfoy wakes." Although Snape didn't care about Hermione's feelings on the matter, all the same, Snape spoke with a confidence that gave Hermione heart.

"Draco can hear me Harry," insisted Hermione in a fierce whisper. And she was right.

While Draco's earthly shell floated inches above his probable deathbed, his spirit and soul stood at the doorway that led the other side. Draco was prepared. He was eager to chat with his respected purebred Slytherin ancestors. His restless spirit, and his slightly reluctant soul, drifted farther and farther from the sweet and frantic voice he recognized as that of 'his Petals' - the love of his young life. Draco was now far off, listening to Petals' insistent voice calling to him like a sea siren, promising more of the love he so craved. But his weary, troubled spirit ignored the sweet calling, wanting to drift through this new and interestingly peaceful plane. Ahead of him another competing call spoke to his heart from places 'beyond'.

Is that you there at the tunnel's end Grandmother Malfoy? I can't see with that damned light in my eyes. Step out of the damned light... What Grandmother Malfoy? Crikey, Gran, I only said 'damn', that's not really a swear word... Forgive me Grandmother Malfoy. I didn't mean to offend you...

While Draco made acquaintance with his ancestors, Harry, determined Hermione would maintain her tenuous grip on reality should Draco continue to drift away, continued talking to the girl. "All your love for Malfoy may not be enough to stop him leaving you," Harry paused. "Hermione, remember. Sometimes things happen for the best."

Several Slytherin girls who were close enough to hear Harry's words, burst into tears.

Hermione looked to Harry with sorrowful eyes and whispered, half to herself. "My Cocoa may leave me?"

"Sometimes Hermione," Harry stopped momentarily, surprising himself because there was a catch in his voice. "Sometimes however much we want to, we cannot bring back the ones we love." Surely if anyone knew the truth of those words, Harry did. Harry's mind drifted to memories of his own losses. Breaking away from the distressing thoughts, he shook his head. "Love can't bring our loved ones back."

Hermione began to shake her head in rhythm with Harry's. "Can't bring Cocoa back," she stopped speaking. Visions of Draco swam through her mind; walking with Draco around the lake in early evening arm in arm, stopping between classes for a quick snog in caretaker's closets, the little teasings, the subtle looks. Numerous lovers' quarrels played in Hermione's mind like love sonnets. Their secret hideaway in the greenhouse amid the sweetly scented ghost flowers; making wicked love to Draco until curfew or classes intruded on their happiness.

Hermione whispered in a voice meant to convince herself of simple truths. "He'll go. Draco never listened to reason. Always did precisely what he wanted. If he wants to go, there is nothing I can do."

Harry nodded his head and gave Hermione's hand another squeeze. "That's right Hermione. Malfoy always does what he wants."

Hermione stared across the aisle out into the darkness beyond the open window. Occasionally she nodded as she set her mind to Harry's words. After several long minutes she turned to look Harry full in the face.

"Harry," Hermione said in a thoughtful voice. Harry looked up at Hermione who next said something of the sort not usually heard at a deathbed - not even at the deathbed of a unruly young wizard. Hermione shouted the word with such vehemence that many students surrounding the bedside leapt and a few seated on the floor fell over backwards, much as if Hermione had chosen to shout something nearly as unthinkable, as 'Voldemort'.

Hermione blurted out "BOLLOCKS!"

All stared at the crazy Gryffindor muggleborn witch; Draco was right about Gryffindors - they were all mental.

Hermione ignored Harry who was looking stunned. Hermione faced Draco, whose eyes were shut, his pale lashes unmoving on his now sallow cheeks. From her seat, Hermione hissed, "Mr. Draco Malfoy. I'll be damned if you have your way this time! "Oh no," she spat angrily as though Draco and she were in the midst of a quarrel. "You stubborn, annoying spawn of Slytherin! You will not dance off into the afterlife and leave me behind. I'll not have it! You will stay here with me and face life."

"What?" said Harry, bewildered. Hermione was losing her sanity. "But Hermione..."

From the other side of Draco's bed, Snape rose up, intent on tossing the insane Gryffindor girl out on her irreverent ear. As Snape made to stand he felt two hands firm on his shoulders. It was somewhat unnerving to Snape how the hands of someone as old as Dumbledore could so easily hold him seated, pressed firmly on a chair, entirely against his will.

"Severus," cautioned Dumbledore releasing his grip. "We must let Miss Granger and Mr Potter alone. At times like this I have noted it is always for the best to let others display their grief as they will. Allow them to do whatever it is they feel they must do."

Harry scrambled off the floor. He, like Hermione, ignored the students who filled the still air with words such as 'disrespectful', 'audacity' and 'mental'. Harry gripped Hermione by the arms. He felt nearly undone from overwhelming pity for his newly dotty friend. Violently wrenching herself from Harry's well-meaning grasp, Hermione jumped up from her chair and climbed on the bed next to Draco who floated quietly in his invisible green sea of acquiescence.

"Draco!" barked Hermione in a brusque, rising voice. "I know you can hear me!"

Gran, why did you stop haunting Malfoy Manor? Father really misses you. Say, I've always wondered; did Mother hold an exorcism behind Father's back and chase you out of Malfoy Mansion? Ah ha! Well, I thought as much. Dear Gran, you certainly used to piss off... I mean Gran... you used to make Mother quite angry, haunting mother's dinner parties, hiding her jewelry...

"Draco," Hermione bellowed, and her call echoed up and down the infirmary chamber. "Your Slytherin friends are all here. We will all miss watching you at Quidditch practice. I'll have to watch the other boys play Quidditch now. With you gone I imagine Radgerman will make Quidditch team captain. Radgerman fills track trousers near as well as you do!"

Radgerman, who was slumped on the floor to the rear of his classmates, shot to his feet and peered over to Hermione, winking at her from behind his classmates. He was willing and prepared to take up any slack his predecessor Draco left.

Say, is that Grandfather Malfoy coming out of the light there? Granddad! How very lovely to see you! Oh, I'm sorry about the noise. I'm afraid that's my girlfriend making the ruckus. Well, I suppose I should say she 'was' my girlfriend. Poor girl, she's apparently gone a bit off her nut now I'm leaving. She was absolutely crazy about me. I mean, can't really blame her, can you?

Harry took one of Hermione's arms. "Hermione, come on, let's go outside for a walk, some fresh air..." Again, Hermione shook Harry off, and continued her frenzied ranting.

"Draco, I'm telling all your classmates how you jumped to do my every bidding as any 'well trained' boyfriend ought. I'm telling them how you used to fold my knickers into origami animals to amuse me. How you used to blow spit bubbles on what you used to call my 'tender pink girl bit'."

Great Uncle Niles Malfoy, I never had the pleasure to meet you. I was always fond of the painting of you having your head chopped off, the painting hanging in the Malfoy Manor grand entryway. Colourful piece of artwork that, splendid use of the colour red. Sorry Uncle, ignore the noise, that's my old girlfriend screaming at me. What? No, nothing of the sort! As a matter of fact I had complete control over her. No really, she's just pining for me - loudly. I'm afraid she's not taking my impending death well at all. Poor witch. Bet she'll flood Hogwarts with her tears.

"Have it your way Draco dear! You can bloody well die if you wish! I'll stay here; entertain your Slytherin friends with even more stories about you! I've loads of them! Tell how you loved to play with my bra, you remember, you insisted on calling it a muggle corset! You put my muggle corset on and pranced about singing those lovely muggle tunes I taught you, 'I Enjoy Being A Girl' and 'I Feel Pretty. You and I used to laugh ourselves silly!"

Several of the Slytherin boys clamped their hands over their mouths to smother their near hysterical laughter about an unsuspected side of Malfoy. Other, older Slytherin boys openly guffawed in such raucous manner, the proper Slytherin girls swung fists at them to shut them up. But soon enough, as the mental picture of Draco dancing and singing in an exotic muggle corset hit the minds of the Slytherin girls, they too became caught up in the silliness, giggling and cackling, wildly out of control.

Even the dignified Dumbledore left the infirmary all together in a great hurry. As the headmaster exited into the hall, the sound of loud cackling entered the infirmary.

Hello? You are my late Cousin Adrian aren't you? Aren't you the one who 'tried' to collect an egg from a wild Swedish Short-snout Dragon? Well Cousin! Damn me but you were a complete idiot! Sorry Gran. What was that you said Adrian? I can't hear you, the laughter from the earthly plane is so loud...

No force on Earth, or off, could stop Hermione now. She turned to face her Slytherin schoolmates. "Laugh! Yes, go on all of you laugh! I think I'll tell you how Draco used to make love to me! He could have taught you lot thing or two! You'd enjoy hearing about that, wouldn't you?"

What the...shut the hell up Petals! Oh, sorry Gran. Petals stop telling them, personal things like that! Is nothing sacred? Our love life was bloody private, between you and me! Have you lost your fucking mind you insubordinate stubborn witch? No, not you Gran, I'm trying to talk to my girlfriend back on Earth's shores. What do you mean she can't hear me from here?

The embarrassed Slytherin students yowled and hooted with laugher. Yes, the muggleborn was a corker all right, just as Malfoy always hinted. The Gryffindor witch told them wicked things. If only Malfoy would come back. They'd take the mickey out of him, tease him within an inch of his life. At the thought they would probably never have the opportunity to harass, offend, or pick fights with Malfoy, ever, ever again, a number of the boys, including Radgerman, abruptly, one by one, ceased laughing and burst into tears, bawling like abandoned babies.

Damn it Petals! Sorry Gran. Petals? You aggravating, disobedient... you're embarrassing me in front of my former classmates and worse, you are humiliating me in front of my Slytherin ancestors. In all fairness Great Uncle Niles, it's not my fault Gryffindor wizards don't train their witches to behave themselves and to be demure and respectful! Oh Uncle, it isn't as if there are many Slytherin witches who behave properly either. Well, sure, perhaps in YOUR day witches were well behaved, but...Why was I dating a Gryffindor witch? That is getting a bit personal, isn't it Uncle? Oh, Gran! I am not being cheeky with Uncle Niles, I'm only saying...

Again, Harry gently took Hermione's arm and tried to coax her away. "Hermione, please," Harry begged, now as frantic as Hermione. Harry was sure Hermione would have a fit when she came to herself and realized what scathingly wicked secrets she was revealing. The whole of Hogwarts would know of her words inside of 24 hours. "Please come with me now Hermione. Let's go outside for some fresh air."

"DRACO! Did you hear that?" yelled Hermione. "Harry asked me out! And do you know what? I'm going to accept! Once Harry has ME, he will have beaten you at everything!"

Damn it, Petals! Sorry Gran. PETALS, stay away from that flaming git Potter! Sorry again Gran. Petals - don't MAKE me come down there!

"Harry beat you all to pieces at Quidditch Draco, and now he's stealing your 'Gryffindor Bay-ay-be'! So go ahead and leave. Harry will help me forget all about you! And if Harry won't Radgerman will!"

Petals, don't you want me to go off peacefully here with Gran? Gran, Granddad, Uncle Niles, Cousin Adrian, and you lot over there standing in those flames. I can't stay here. I must to go back, otherwise who is going to teach that impossible swot some manners? And anyway, I can't have her go running off with Potter - that complete bastard. Sorry Gran...

The soul and undaunted spirit that was Draco slogged back through the mire of unconsciousness, following the hoarse, tender voice of his disobedient Petals. Draco retreated, back towards the earthly plane, leaving behind the impossibly bright light. He followed the continuous calling, the taunting, that grew louder and louder. Soon Draco teetered at the edge of consciousness.

Draco's white eyelashes began to flutter on his pale cheeks.

Hermione's heart painfully lurched in her breast. "My sweet Cocoa-butter!" Hermione yelled to be heard over the guffawing and/or sobbing Slytherin. "Cocoa! Wake up!"

Still somewhat reluctant to return to the here and now, Draco fought to open his eyes, but his lids were heavy with exhaustion. Struggling he managed to crack open one dilated eye and the first thing he saw in the distorted mist of his vision was Hermione's grief stricken, tear streaked face.

Disobedient muggleborn, Gryffindor witch. Tearing me from that lovely place because I can't get enough of you or your sloppy-slippy-slidey pink little tongue, those lovely tits and soft girly bits...

The vigil transformed near magically from funereal to carnival as the happy and stunned audience observed a miracle with their own eyes. The indomitable Captain Malfoy had returned to kick arse and set everyone to rights. Even Snape sat stunned, momentarily unable to move, or comprehend the boy who returned from his flirtatious trip to the other side.

"Quiet," barked Snape. "The boy is trying to speak!"

All shouting ceased and for several seconds, the only sound in the infirmary was that of Draco. His voice was a soft, garbled sputter. He struggled to project his voice above a whisper. "Shuuuu ttthha faaaaa kaaap yoooo..."

Draco's body was exhausted and he was not entirely returned to consciousness, but his spirit was full of piss and vinegar.

"He wants to know who won the match," said Harry loudly.

The garbled verbiage that Draco spat out, seemed remarkable and Malfoy continued sputtering even as Hermione spoke.

"You won the match Draco," lied Hermione who was now positively beaming. No one dared dispute her on the details of the unfinished match.

Everyone's moment of joy was short lived. As Draco's mind left behind memories of the 'other side' and his spirit fully took its place in the here and now, a tidal wave of pain broke over him. Agonizing pained noises escaped his dry throat. He cried out as though a fresh bolt of lightning struck at him. Crabbe howled out in sympathy like a kicked dog.

Snape, who had taken everything in the surreal bedside scene with disbelief, now jumped up so fast his chair crashed to the floor. He leapt onto the bed by Draco's side and kneeling, he quickly pulled the floating boy up into a sitting position.

"Quick, Granger," Snape barked. "Now!"

Knocking Harry out of the way, Hermione jumped over to the side table, snatching up her wand that lay beside the cauldron. With her wand she stirred the cauldron in a figure eight pattern, the symbol of infinity. She rapidly and clearly spoke a spell. A day earlier, Hermione begged Snape to allow her to assist with Draco's treatment and the potions master grudgingly showed the girl how to perform the dodgy little sequence of maneuvers necessary to strengthen the Lacerta Draught as the foul stuff was prepared for decanting to a cup.

Her chanting complete, Hermione ladled a scoop of the thick gruel-like draught from the cauldron as rapidly but carefully as she could, not willing to spill a single precious drop. She poured the substance it into a black onyx cup. Many students took several steps backwards to avoid smelling the sickly sweet substance that Hermione wielded. Wrinkling her nose, Hermione handed the onyx cup to Snape. Behind the cup a purplish trail of smoke drifted from the cauldron to Snape's hand.

"I'm sorry Professor Snape," Hermione apologized for her moment's hesitation to fetch the cup of potion. "I was slow..."

Unconcerned with Hermione's apology, Snape snatched the cup from Hermione's hand. Draco's mouth was open, yelling as loud as he could manage. The sounds that left Draco's throat were weak and pathetic but obviously were noises of great distress. Snape leveled the onyx cup by Draco's mouth, the saccharine sweet smell of the draught turned Draco's stomach. He twisted his head around and clamped his mouth shut. Snape patiently pried Draco's mouth open with two fingers and forced the brew down Draco's throat. Draco spat out much of the syrupy brew. Snape begged, and then he bullied his patient for cooperation.

"Mr. Malfoy... the sooner you drink this potion, the sooner your pain will end and the faster healing can take place. Don't be stubborn boy, drink!" Snape poured more of the draught into Draco's mouth, but Draco snapped his injured mouth shut and the sticky draught dribbled on his plasters.

"Draco," Hermione was again desperate. She clambered back onto the bed and leaned over Draco, hesitating to touch him. "Cocoa, drink!"

Heeding Hermione, Draco painfully opened his mouth as far as pain would allow. Deftly and gently, Snape slowly poured the thick greyish-purple potion into Draco's mouth. Snape fed Draco as rapidly as the boy could take in the gruel-like substance. Draco coughed violently and soon he was spitting out nearly as much of the draught as he took in.

"Tasssts likk raaaacccd caaaissssp," protested Draco weakly through his coughing, the thick liquid running down onto his plasters. Feebly Draco tried to turn his head from Snape but the Potions Master held the boy's head in a firm grip.

You know, Malfoy says..." began Harry.

Snape barked out, "Silence Mr. Potter! Granger, get a second dose ready you stupid girl!"

Poor Draco's very bones rattled with the pain. He groaned piteously as he had many times before in the infirmary, only this time it was the real thing. Holding his squinting eyes as wide as he could manage, his blurred vision slowly began to clear. He looked at Hermione and took comfort in the girl's encouraging gaze. As Draco's alertness improved he slowly he realized there were others in the room besides Snape and Hermione. To distract himself from the potion Snape was pouring into him, and from the pain, Draco slowly looked over his audience. He saw the hated Potter standing by Hermione with his Gryffindor hand on Petal's arm.

Mental note: Kill Potter.

Draco noted that most of his Slytherin classmates were present, and even several of the now familiar and the ever-annoying Dawn Brawn fanciers. It was Draco's delight, all of the witches and many of the wizards surrounding his bedside wore tear streaks on their relieved faces.

As is my due.

As Draco slowly took in the thick horrible brew, it occurred him he felt as though he was floating in cool water, which was highly unlikely. Confused, he could not throw off the feeling that he was in water. To stay afloat he flayed about, kicking his legs and waving his arms increasing Snape's difficulty in holding Draco still enough to get draught into him. Finally, puzzled, Draco craned his neck as best he could to look down on himself. Draco realized with something of a gasp, that every inch of him was encased in plasters, but not ordinary plasters. He was shelled in plasters that fit over him like a chilly, gelatinous skin. The gel-plasters were only a half-inch thick over his face, but a full three-inches thick over the rest of his body. The gel-plaster was, opaque and tinted green with various soothing herbs. Draco's hands looked like they were covered by large green mittens. Aside from the gel-plasters, as any good Slytherin in repose Draco was free of pyjamas. For modesty's sake a sheet draped him from his waist to his ankles, sheltering his most prized possession.

In short, Draco looked like a rather large, fat, lime flavoured, gummy bear sweet.

Salazar's stoked stonker! At long last - an audience in the infirmary, even the Headmaster is here. Damn my luck, I don't feel at all fit for entertaining.

A choking noise caught Draco's attention and twisting his head he was horrified to spot Crabbe. Poor Crabbe stood off to the side from his classmates. Scrunched up against Crabbe, weeping against the burly boy's massive chest was Pansy Parkinson. Pansy cried copiously. Poor Crabbe stood sniveling, making sad noises as he watched Draco, his friend, his leader and his own personal guardian, suffering.

Draco spat draught and called out in a quavering voice, "Paaaallls!"

Snape stared into Draco's mouth. "What the..." He handed the onyx cup to Hermione and dug his fingers into Draco's mouth. When he removed his hand he was holding a small glittering object. "What in... what is this?" Snape asked. He held up a tiny flattened disk that even by candlelight glittered.

Hermione recognized Draco's golden tongue stud.

"Whatever this is," said Snape, suspiciously. "It seems to have melted." He peered into Draco's mouth and with a finger prodded the boy's tongue. "And it burned a hole in Malfoy's tongue."

Hermione turned to look at Harry, her face reddening. Harry recognized the stud for what it was but wisely said nothing, at least nothing about the stud. Harry instead translated Draco's last word. "Petals," translated Harry. "Malfoy is calling you Hermione." He wrinkled his nose in disgust as a whiff of the potion floated over to him from the cup in Hermione's hand. It made Harry's stomach turn too.

Hermione looked at Draco who was wildly trying to catch her eye. When He finally caught Hermione's eye he own eyes over towards Crabbe.

Hermione nodded resolutely at Draco. She refilled the used onyx cup and returned it to Snape. With a loving look at Draco, whose eyes were frantic, Hermione said, "I'm doing it now Draco, don't fret."

Hermione went over to Crabbe and gently took his elbow, and placed a kind hand on Pansy's back. "Crabbe? Pansy? Draco isn't up to company but your Professor Snape is seeing to him. Let's leave them alone now so Draco can rest."

Neither Crabbe nor Pansy looked convinced of Draco's wellness at all, but they went along calmly with Hermione because it was apparently what Malfoy wanted.

Dumbledore, walked up to the group. His eyes had regained their twinkle behind the half moon spectacles. He lent his support to Hermione. "Yes, now come along, all of you. I believe Malfoy doesn't require us just now. We may visit tomorrow or the next day, when he is rested." Dumbledore led the remainder of the students, including Harry, after Hermione towards the infirmary door, leaving Snape and Malfoy alone.

As they walked along the corridor, Harry pulled Hermione away from Crabbe and Parkinson and asked, "That disgusting tongue stud. Do you think that is what attracted the lightening to Malfoy in the first place?"

Hermione bristled. "Draco's tongue stud is not disgusting, and what difference does it make now? What has happened, happened and there are more important things to concern ourselves... myself, with."

As everyone left the infirmary, Snape continued pouring the draught into Draco's pursed mouth.

The professor made a concerted effort to keep his own black eyes off of Draco's piteous grey ones. It wouldn't do for a house professor to react like some pathetic school matron over his toughest Slytherin student.

"Mr. Malfoy, do you know what I am pouring into you," snapped Snape.

"Laaaaaaaccerr..." answered Draco in a weak voice. He felt immensely tired.

"Very good Malfoy. Yes, this is a Lacerta or 'lizard' draught. A powerful restorative for damaged tissues. It will allow you to regenerate your damaged skin and tissues the way a lizard deprived of its tail by a cat, will grow back a new tail. It is devilishly tricky to prepare properly."

Although Draco no longer thrashed about, and although he ceased his painful yelps, Snape seemed more worried, not less. Draco feared the Lacerta draught might not be working properly.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhggggg," protested Draco suddenly thrashed as though someone poked him with pins. His voice was sharply agitated, sounding far more powerful than his voice had when he was in pain. He flung his arms and legs from side to side. Snape held Draco's head firm, which caused the rest of the boy's free floating body to swing to and fro like a pendulum. Snape smiled, as his worse fears were set to rest by the very discomfort that caused the boy such extreme discomfort. He explained his relief to Draco.

"The unfortunate side effect of a properly working Lacerta draught is intense itching, nearly as terrible as the pain the potion relieved. You must try to think of the itching as a sign you are being repaired from within. If the itching ceases, so does the healing. Itching is a miniscule price to pay to be healed as completely as you will be. Madame Pomfrey will keep you asleep most of the time so the itching won't bedevil you. I am afraid the potion doesn't allow for dreaming."

Although he understood, Draco could not resist jiggling about, frantically attempting to rub his gelatin-covered head against Snape.

"The gel-plaster is meant to protect your damaged skin, and also to keep you from scratching yourself."

Snape sounded very nearly sympathetic, which was unnerving to Draco.

Snape dramatically changed his tone of voice. "You've taken up enough of my time already Malfoy. I have exams to prepare and the sooner you take the rest of this draught, the sooner I can return to my responsibilities."

Even in his disoriented state, Draco appreciated that now Snape spoke in a short-tempered rough manner, a ploy to hide any taint of pity, sympathy or worse, affection, in Snape's voice.

Snape continued pouring smoking draught into Draco's mouth. "Your parents have been notified of your accident Mr. Malfoy. Professor Dumbledore saw to that task himself.

Do you realize, your skin will heal thoroughly now? Renewed to pristine state. Exactly like the fresh skin of a newborn baby. Your new skin will be a bit soft at first, but fresh and whole."

Snape poured the last of the draught into Draco's mouth. Draco made an unhappy face and frowned.

Snape gave a tight-lipped smile. "Only you Mr. Malfoy, could be burned up like an overdone chip on 'the barbie' and at the end of two or three weeks suffer nothing worse than looking as thought you've spent your Christmas holiday at some posh spa on the Rivera."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry graciously led exhausted Hermione up the stairs towards the Gryffindor Commons. "Funny thing, Hermione," said Harry contemplatively. "Malfoy said that draught tastes like rancid cat piss." Harry's ability to translate Malfoy's speech surprised Harry no less than his own ability to speak Parseltongue. As far as Harry was concerned, the two abilities, both involving communication with low creatures, were pretty much to the same thing. "Malfoy always relates bad tastes to rancid cat piss. I wonder why that is?"

Hermione took a second to glare at Harry. "Harry, don't be rude." The girl had already conveniently forgotten the salacious things she announced to everyone in the infirmary in her battle to reclaim Draco.

"I mean, Malfoy must have some point of reference," said Harry defensively. Then Harry brought up the real matter that weighted on him. "Hermione. I uh... lied to you. I mean when Malfoy woke. He didn't ask about the Slytherin Hufflepuff match."

"I suspected as much," said Hermione gratefully. "What did he say?"

Harry decided to spit the truth out and get it over with. "Uh... well, not to put to fine a point on it, Malfoy called you a noisy disobedient witch and demanded that you stop the annoying crying and shut the 'eff' up." Harry's face began to redden. "And Malfoy said if you didn't obey him, he was going to 'pull down your knickers and...' uh... and etc, etc, Hermione, um... I think you get the gist."

Her hand over her mouth, Hermione giggled in a silly manner, annoying Harry.

"And that wasn't all," Harry lowered his voice unnecessarily. He stopped climbing the stairs, becoming suddenly interested in one of the paintings he had passed on the stairwell hundreds of times without a hint of any interest. "And uh... Malfoy also said, um... you know, well, he said he loves you. And I don't know what he meant, and perhaps I heard Malfoy wrong, but he also said something about you being worth the effing trip all the way back." Harry turned and fixed Hermione with a odd, perplexed look. "Then, so help me Hermione, he apologized to his Grandmother!"

Although Hermione was as in the dark about the 'grandmother' thing as Harry, she put on a tired but self-satisfied smile.

"We're almost there Hermione." Harry held a comforting arm over Hermione's shoulders as they climbed the tower stairs headed for Gryffindor Commons. "Poor Hermione. I know you must be starving. I'll fetch a nice hot bowl of soup and a sandwich for you from the kitchen. Poor tired girl."

"That's very sweet of you," said Hermione. Save for short bouts during which she fell asleep with her eyes open, she hadn't slept or eaten since Thursday night. Now she knew Draco would recover, she could rest easier.

There was a loud scrambling noise as someone raced up the stairs behind them. Harry and Hermione turned to see Ron, flying up the stairs, three and four steps at a time.

"Did you hear? Have you heard the news?" yelped Ron. "You just won't believe it!"

Ron set his exhausted eyes on Hermione; she was exhausted and looking as wrung out as one of Filch's mops.

"Poor girl," said Ron fumbling for something sympathetic to say. "So, well then, Malfoy. Is Malfoy, dead? Yet?"

"No," said Hermione wearily. " Sorry to disappoint you Ron, but Draco is quite all right. He is awake and being tended to," Hermione said with mounting annoyance. "Draco... 'Cocoa', is going to be right as rain."

"Oh," said Ron, well aware that he was now officially in the doghouse again. Ron bit his tongue to keep several snide remarks from escaping his lips. "That's... nice. Real nice. Now, guess what!"

"Ron, Whatever it is," said Harry, indicating Hermione with his free hand. "It can wait, can't it? I'm taking Hermione upstairs, she could use a rest."

"Harry, Messalina is flying Seeker for Slytherin! Can you believe it? A girl on Slytherin team! If Malfoy's still alive, this will KILL him!" Ron was beside himself with excitement.

"No kidding? That's super!" Harry shouted, now at least as excited as Ron. Harry gave Hermione a worried sidelong glance.

Hermione eyed both boys with complete disgust.

"But Harry," Ron sounded about to explode with joy. "You know Abbott can't fly seeker... and you'll never guess who is flying for Hufflepuff, never in a million years. A Gryffindor will fly substitute seeker for Hufflepuff!"

"What?" said Harry stunned. "A Gryffindor? Seeker? I only know it's not me!"

"No, it's our Ginny!" shouted Ron. By 'our girl' Ron meant he and his brothers. Ron didn't realize that Harry also viewed Ginny as 'his' Ginny.

"What are we waiting for Ron," shouted Harry. "Let's go!"

Pulling his arm free of Hermione, Harry bolted down the stairs after Ron. Hermione stood watching as the two boys raced down the stairs, and out of sight, headed for the stadium. She shook her head indignantly, somewhat surprised by Harry's desertion. After all, Harry was quite the gentleman, unlike Ron who was more a rascal, sometimes nearly as bad as Fred and George. Wearily, Hermione took the stairway banister in hand and headed up the stairs when she heard someone bounding up the stairs behind her. She turned her head to see Harry, apparently come to his gentlemanly senses. Hermione smiled at Harry, who in turn, grinned back at her.

"Oh Hermione," said Harry sounding apologetic. "What you must think of me! Can't believe the way my mind works sometimes." Harry shook his head in amazement. "Imagine me forgetting my omnioculars!" And with that, Harry raced up the staircase to fetch his omnioculars, disappearing around a stairwell corner.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Like wild Aussie Pixies released in a china shop, the news that the infamous Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff match was back on, spread pandemonium. As it might be expected, many Hogwarts staff and students felt playing out a match of such a tragic and sudden end was the epitome of poor taste. But those who knew the fierce rivalry of Malfoy and Abbott, also knew the two injured seekers would pitch fits if the match were allowed to remain in a stalemate.

Miss Abbott was well awake by the time the news of the renewed match made its way to her. She wore a gel-plaster only on one arm, which she jiggled irritably. Abbott gave the renewed match her full approval and lay anxiously in her infirmary bed awaiting the results of the game.

At eleven o'clock sharp, the students and faculty who rushed to fill the stadium sat anxious and eager for the match to begin anew. The weather outlook for the match was spectacular; the Friday night storm had floated off to rule over lands to the south of Hogwarts. On Sunday morning the winter sun gleaming down upon the pitch, and not a cloud was visible in the broad blue sky.

Shortly before the match was to begin, Hooch looked up at the two teams hovering above the center pitch. Hooch nodded at the Slytherin team.

It was Radgerman who drew the short wand and won the honor of calling out, "SLYTHERIN DEDICATES THE SECOND ROUND OF THIS MATCH TO FALMOY'S SWIFT RECOVERY!"

All four houses - Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and even Gryffindor rose up from their seats shouting. "TO DRACO MALFOY'S SWIFT RECOVERY!"

To be honest with you, there were many, particularly among the Gryffindor who hollered variations on the theme, such as 'TO THE LITTLE SHITE'S LINGERING RECOVERY!' But overall, most did their best to keep in the spirit of the occasion.

Taking time to glare at Radgerman, Hooch gave a thumb's up to the Slytherin team above her. At Hooch's signal, the Slytherin team drew their wands and shouted in unison.

"DRACO-IGNIS EXALTO!"

One by one, silver streams of light sped from each Slytherin wand, forming a glittering ball high over the stadium. The audience below in the stadium held up their hands to shield their eyes from the incendiary glow. Everyone thought the silver ball, represented Slytherin and was in itself the point of the little show, and they were wrong. After some thirty seconds the silver ball unfolded, lengthening into a long, curious string of silver light, some hundred feet high and twisted round on itself like a bedspring - impressive enough. Then, instantaneously the serpentine coil of light turned from silver to the brilliant flaming red of a Chinese Fireball Dragon, complete with gold ruff surrounding the dragon's face, with bright blue flames shooting out from its sharp-toothed jaws.

Down below in the stadium, Professor Flitwick was the first of the faculty to loose his poise and burst into tears. It was a Knut toss as to whether it was the sentiment of the occasion that got to the good professor or simply that he could hardly believe the Slytherin team was able to pull off the brilliant charm, and on such short notice.

Everyone was impressed by the great Chinese Fireball floating over them, brighter than the pale blue sky, a fiery dragon that writhed and whipped about its great long tail before disappearing in a tremulous shimmer of sparkling silver light. The stadium exploded into cheers and Hooch released the Quaffle.

"WELCOME BACK TO THE MATCH THAT WOULDN'T DIE!" shouted Lee Jordan. "Professor that wasn't a knock at Malfoy, honest! HOPKINS OF HUFFLEPUFF TAKES POSSESSION OF THE QUAFFLE... WARRINGTON OF SLYTHERIN CUTS HOPKINS OFF... HOOCH SIGNALS THE MOVE WAS WITHIN BOUNDS AND SLYTHERIN'S PUCEY TAKES POSSESSION..."

Minutes into the match, Ginny and Messalina wasted no time speeding to the upper reaches of the stadium. The two did not tail each other, but flew off in opposite directions. Messalina was an aggressive flier. She tore past the Hufflepuff keeper in such tight turn the keeper thought a collision was imminent and nearly fell off his broom. The Slytherin supporters broke into cheers over Messalina's moves. The girl had moves - moves of all sorts - down to a fine science.

Nervously watching Messalina, Ginny cut around the Slytherin goals on the opposite side of the stadium. As Ginny swerved, she gasped - it was barely five minutes into the match and she'd spotted the snitch, hovering mid field above the stadium section reserved for professors and school guests.

Down in the Gryffindor section Harry too spotted the snitch and saw Ginny dive for it. He whooped, "GINNY! GO, GO, GO!" Soon Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor section were cheering Ginny on.

"WEASLEY IS CLOSING IN ON THE SNITCH!" screamed Jordan. "ZABINI, CUTS A PATH AFTER WEASLEY! I SAY THOSE TWO BEAUTIES ARE QUITE A SIGHT AS THEY MOVE THEIR SPECTACULAR ARS... I wasn't going to say 'move their arses', Professor, honestly. I was going to say... AND HUFFLEPUFF HAS THE QUAFFLE AND SCORES THE FIRST TEN POINTS OF THIS ROUND! OUTRAGEOUS! THE SNITCH IS SLIDING IN TO A DIAGONAL PATH..."

Ginny was stretched full out on a borrowed Starshotz 5001. She concentrated on nothing except for the snitch, wings buzzing like a hummingbird, as it cut another sharp turn. Suddenly Ginny felt a sharp pain like someone attempting to rip her head off. Painfully Ginny turned her head. Messalina gripped handful of flaming red hair and was pulling back on it for all she was worth.

"LET GO!" Ginny screamed and pulled back her boot, kicking at Messalina. "Get back you brother-shagging harpy!" yelled Ginny.

"Oh shut up you virgin!" yelped Messalina with a sneer. She made a futile snatch to recapture Ginny's hair, but missed.

"Better a virgin than a boy buggering girly-pervert," yelled Ginny. She panicked.

The bickering caused the girls to miss one of the snitch's turns. Quickly peering round they simultaneously re-spotted the snitch and hunkering down on their broomsticks, making hairpin turns in pursuit.

The two furious seekers now ignored each other as they tailed the snitch, which changed trajectories so rapidly one would think the golden flying ball had been soaked in Gremlin Gin prior to the match. The girls were now single minded in their pursuit for the snitch. The snitch dropped downwards, accelerating earthward at a phenomenal speed exceeding the pull of gravity.

Ginny and Messalina tipped their broomsticks down, and accelerated. Both girls stretched forward on their broomsticks, each holding a gloved hand, fingertips outstretched, towards the darting gold glint. They were headed for collision and the stadium went wild, students screaming encouragement, students screaming in fear - the latter being the wiser contingent. Only six feet from the surface of the pitch, the snitch leveled off, shooting horizontally across the ground. The girls peeled off from their drop, so little room or time to spare that their boots slammed into the pitch sand, and as they leveled off, their boots dragged, throwing sand rooster tails high into the air. The stadium was wild at the near suicidal dives. Even Harry at his most daring showed more restraint.

The snitch slowed momentarily as though deciding what rotten trick to pull next. In that flash of a second, both girls closed in on the snitch at the same time. They collided sidelong into each other, their broomsticks driving into the ground like arrows. The girls, flew free of their broomsticks, pitched up into the air, and then downward, landing with sickening thuds. Both girls lay still in a heap.

"WEASLEY AND ZABINI HAVE CRASHED! ARE THEY ALL RIGHT? HAS ONE OF THEM CAPTURED THE SNITCH? WHY ARE THEY JUST LYING THERE?" Lee Jordan shrieked.

Harry and Ron and the twins wasted no time, they were already charging down the stadium steps racing to Ginny's aid.

Hooch, racing on her broomstick shot towards the pitch and was the first to reach the girls. She hit the ground running. She skidded to the girls, throwing up a sandy cloud. "Zabini! Weasley! Are you two all right?"

Slowly, in response to Hooch, the girls sat up, and coughed up liberal amounts of pitch dust.

"I'm all right Miss," sputtered Ginny. She wore a dismal look and with much dismay, held up her sandy, bruised, empty hands, which alas, held no snitch. Holding her breath Ginny looked to Messalina.

Messalina's green Quidditch robe was settled over her head and face. Calmly she flipped the green robe back with one hand. Sitting as though accustomed to being seated on the coarse pitch sand, Messalina shook her hair, which hung in a disheveled plait. As though completely unconcerned in the outcome of the vicious little match, Messalina carelessly held up her hands. As pretty and manicured as her hands were, they were decidedly snitch-free.

"Are you girls all right?" asked Madame Hooch. Hufflepuff and Slytherin team members landed and students crowded around to survey the girl seekers.

Messalina said not a word. She lifted both hands and gracefully accepted the assistance of two Slytherin boys who helped to her feet. The boys grinned like Cheshire cats with mouths full of canary bits. All eyes were on Zabini. The girl was not one to waste a gesture. Messalina's eyes surveyed Hooch as though bored, and all the while she quietly unbraided her chestnut plait.

"Miss Zabini," said Hooch in a persistent voice. "Answer me. Are you all right girl?"

Messalina lowered her head and deliberately shook sand free of her hair. Then, with a backward toss of her thick chestnut mane, she opened her mouth and stuck out her pink tongue, on the end of which balanced the wet snitch. For an insensate and inanimate object, the snitch looked well satisfied.

Messalina's Slytherin teammates roared their approval. "BY SALAZAR'S SPECTACULAR STIFFY, THERE IS NO FASTER TONGUE IN ALL OF BRITAIN! THREE CHEERS FOR MESSALINA!"

It was a happy, happy day for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Not only were the team members, reserves and all, owners of wildly expensive Starshotz 6000 world-class, international standard racing broomsticks, but also there was wonderful news to report to Draco Malfoy who slept peacefully in the infirmary.

The Slytherin team attempted to hoist Messalina up on their shoulders, but she pushed them away and looking around with the first worried expression that crossed Messalina's pert face all day.

"MESSALINA! MESSALINA!" Like a bowling ball colliding with numerous pins, Goyle burst through the crowd of students.

"GREGGORS!" Messalina made a spectacular leap, wrapping herself on the boy as though she had grown there under careful cultivation. The two hugged, squealing each other's name.

"You done good Messalina!" yelped Goyle, beside himself with joy.

"No. 'You did well' dear," corrected Messalina in her tireless and seemingly endless task to 'improve' her husky boyfriend.

"Thank you," said Goyle blissfully. "You done good too!"

Goyle and Messalina then engaged in a public snog, thoroughly shameless and absolutely without redeeming qualities - unless one included the richness of moans, interesting groans and topically applied bodily fluids. The two stood right there on the pitch, and did things that were best interpreted with one's frontal lobes in the off position, and one's primitive brainstem firmly set on 'randy'. Students who caught the action were inspired to race off for their own snog sessions with significant others, or raced off to wan... well to enjoy their afternoon. Students not up to such however merely looked on in awe at Goyle and Zabini, until red-faced, the students turned around and marched rapidly away leaving Goyle and Zabini to their shameless pleasures.

Meanwhile Ginny, looking thoroughly disheartened, let Captain Brockland help her to her feet. The captain brushed Ginny off. The captain spent rather a great deal of effort cleansing Ginny's rear of sand and the girl blushed. The Weasley twins broke through the crowd.

"Ginny you scared me half to death, you could have been killed!" George shouted. He had a massive grin on his happy face.

"Ginny! You were wonderful out there! Wait till Dad hears, he'll just spit!" Fred yelled, his face a picture of complete horror and panic.

Ginny looked from one thoroughly confused brother to the other.

George scooped up his sister in a bear hug. "By Merlyn, Ginny, you little hellcat! Knew you had it in you!"

"But I didn't win..." said Ginny, her face rumpling up as she fought back disappointed tears.

Ron, who took time out to wistfully watch Messalina and Goyle engaged in their dissolute activity, fought his way over to his brothers and Ginny. "Ginny, I'm chuffed! That dive put Wronski himself to shame!"

"Who knows," said Fred. "Maybe someday there will be a Weasley on the Chudley Cannons, and it'll be a Weasley that sits to pee!" Fred laughed and patted his sister lovingly in the head.

"And speaking of pee," sniggered Ron. "You know Ginny, when Harry saw you and 'Selina... I mean, Zabini, accelerating into that dive after the snitch, Harry nearly wet himself."

"Right," said George with a smirk. "As opposed to Ron here who actually did pee himself. Messy business that."

"But I didn't get the snitch," said Ginny, enjoying the support of her adoring brothers. "Zabini beat me."

"No such thing," said Captain Brockland. He broke through the wall of Weasley boys to Ginny and ignoring the bristling brothers, he hugged Ginny with one arm in a familiar manner. "You did your best out there, eh Miss?"

"Captain Brockland, I, I, I," stuttered Ginny. Ginny looked shy as Brockland stood grinning, his arm over her shoulder.

"I told you, call me Bertram," said Captain Brockland. He kissed Ginny on the forehead. All around Brockland and Ginny, Red Weasley hair rose up like the hackles of jackals.

Harry, who just spent a good ten minutes watching Goyle and Zabini snogging, arrived on the scene. He tore himself away from the educational and mesmerizing scene of the randy Slytherin pair when he realized his hand, somehow, without his express permission, had crept into his trousers waistband. Largely red faced and hyperventilating, Harry pushed his way through the Hufflepuff team and met the horrifying sight of Ginny, being soundly hugged and for Merlyn's sake, being kissed on the forehead by Captain Brockland! Harry could not believe he was witness to such a disgusting display of raw sexuality by the obviously evil Brockland - the Hufflepuff captain was an animal. Weren't there laws to protect young witches from the evil grasps of such perversities?

For a long minute, Harry stood gobsmacked, his mouth hanging open. He came to his senses. "Unhand her!" He bolted forward and progressed two steps before Ron sprang, tackling Harry onto the pitch.

"Harry," said Ron, releasing Harry's legs and sitting up. "What are you doing?"

"Bloody hell," sputtered Harry. "What do you think I'm doing? That, that, git, that randy prat is having a go at YOUR sister!"

"No such thing," said Ron sensibly. "He kissed Ginny's forehead."

"His lips touched your sister," shouted Harry, because obviously Ron didn't get the full picture of what occurred.

"It was a 'thanks for giving it your all' little kiss on the forehead," explained Ron again. He decided it was a good thing Harry hadn't observed Brockland dusting off Ginny's bum. Harry would have pulled his wand and committed one or two unforgivable curses.

"IN PUBLIC," Harry roared directly into Ron's face.

"Right then," said Ron. "Brockland practically shagged Ginny right in front of her three brothers and an entire stadium filled with students and teachers. I know, we'll nab the bastard tonight after pudding, drown him in the lake. Will that do? I mean, we don't want to kill him right now. I mean, in front of all these witnesses, teachers," said Ron.

"Uh... no," said Harry. "No wait, yes, that is exactly what we want to do!"

"Harry, calm down," said Ron patiently as though he had never had a strong feelings or a go in defending any girl's honor, or spitting up slugs, in his life. "Brockland, Ginny, they're just in high spirits is all. Ginny nearly won the match after all. Fred, George and I talked it over already. We'll keep an eye on Brockland and if he pulls anything on our Ginny, the squid in the lake gets a midnight snack. Come Harry. Don't you think Ginny would have told us, if she was interested in the Captain there? Eh, Captain Potter?"

"I suppose she would have told you," said Harry sounding unconvinced. "There's something about that bastard Brockland. I don't like him. He's only one shade less Slytherin green than a Malfoy."

"Well, maybe," said Ron. He stood up and brushed off his jeans. "I'm going to get ready for this afternoon's Quidditch practice. I have some great ideas for our first match against Ravenclaw after the holidays." Ron marched off.

Standing up, Harry glared at Brockland. The tall Hufflepuff captain walked off the field with his team. Ginny stood alone, still looking a bit dejected. Nabbing his chance, Harry walked up to Ginny.

"Ginny that was, you know, impressive. I mean, uh... that was you know, bloody brilliant. Um... I'm, you know, I'm really, like, you know, proud. Yeah. Proud. I mean, um, proud of you. Yeah. You, Ginny." Harry dropped his head shyly.

"I suppose," Ginny said in a voice so quiet the flapping of a butterfly's wings could have drowned out her voice.

"Um... can I... I mean, if you're not busy... well of course you're busy Ginny, we all are, sort of. I'm not saying you haven't anything important to do, not that you do unimportant things ... Uh... can I maybe walk with you, I mean if you want the company, uh... over to the, the, you know, the place where the team takes off their clothes. I can walk you to the, the, the place, where you can take off your, uh, your things, you know, what's the word, uh... you know your little bra... MERLYN'S MIDDLE LEG! Ginny, I'm not saying your bra, or what you put into your bra is small or anything. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mention your 'you-knows'. I mean, your tits... GODRIC GRYFFINDOR'S GRUNDIES... I am so sorry! Didn't mean to be fresh, about your you-knows, although they are cute, aren't they?" Harry winced. Why had he no control of his mouth whatever in the presence of the girl?

"Yes, Harry. I'd love it you walked me to the locker room so I can change out of this uniform and into clean clothes," said Ginny softly, now proud of herself for speaking in a normal voice. She'd wisely reckoned if she could master speaking in a normal volume around Harry, then eventually Harry would master speaking coherently in her presence. Harry only wanted a bit of practice.

Grinning, Harry trotted over to fetch Ginny's borrowed broomstick, still stuck in the pitch sand like an overlarge arrow. Happily swinging the broomstick over his shoulder, Harry clumsily placed a shaky and sweaty arm over Ginny's shoulders. It felt damned good. He led Ginny towards the Gryffindor locker room. Wisely, he steered himself and Ginny clear of the still snogging Goyle and Zabini. Harry didn't want those two influencing his style. When at last Harry and Ginny reached the Gryffindor locker room, they were near giddy with the excitement of actually having held hands. Harry peered into the locker room door.

"RON!" Harry hollered." RON, YOU IN THERE?"

"Why do you want Ron?" asked Ginny in a disappointed voice.

"I don't want Ron," explained Harry in a flawless sentence. He took Ginny's hand and yanked her around the corner from the locker room, to the racing broom storage shed. Opening the shed door he shyly pulled Ginny through the door, and pulled it shut behind them. He placed Ginny's broomstick with the others. "Um, uh, Ginny... I was thinking, I mean, I wondered if..."

Enough was bloody enough. Ginny grabbed Harry around his neck, and kissed him with the intensity of a young lady who at long last had found her chance. They kissed in a somewhat innocent manner, but they were left not only feeling wonderful, but they were left breathless and rather tingly in exciting new ways, and in waiting-to-be-explored places. The overall effect of their little snog was wandless magic.

"Well," said Harry clearly. "That was nice. Right Ginny?"

Ginny smiled. "Uh... well, I mean, that was um, you know Harry, nice. Uh, not just nice, it was like, you know, grand! I mean you. Your... you know, your mouth things, the pinkish-red things; they are so, like soft. No, I don't mean you're soft, I mean, uh... you're hard, GREAT AUNT DRUZELLA'S DUNGBOMBS... I didn't mean... oh I don't know what I mean!"

Before Ginny could completely lose the ability to speak coherently, Harry smiled and initiated another round of snogging. Speech seemed largely an unnecessary frill.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"POMFREY!" Draco's shrill voice bounced off the infirmary walls like Peeves under the influence of psychoactive drugs. "I'm HUNGRY! When I tell my father how poorly I'm being cared for, you'll be looking for a new situation!" Although he was still quite ill, Draco could holler like a Scot highlander calling back a half-deaf sheep dog from ten acres to the west.

Hermione was only just entering the infirmary. Her school bag slung on her shoulder, she quickly walked up to Draco's bedside and indignantly glared down at her equally indignant jellied beau.

"Draco? Don't tell me that was you I heard screaming like some spoiled brat from all the way across the courtyard? And what is this I hear about your Slytherin friends coming here to read and entertain you out of the... the... 'goodness' of their hearts. I mean, assuming they have hearts, unlike you. And you treating them like rubbish. And poor Madame Pomfrey!"

"Petallssss damn it," raged Draco. "Sssstop taking ssssides!" The more Draco spoke the angrier he grew. He spewed great blots of spit with every fuss, a side effect of the hydrating potions forced on him by Pomfrey. When agitated, which was most of the time he was awake, Draco resembled a fat green beetle larvae writhing on a hot brick. Because he floated above his bed, his frenetic jiggling caused him to drift a bit. Early on, Madame Pomfrey attached string around Draco's gel-fattened waist, leashing him to his bed so he would stay put. She had quickly grown tired of finding him floating down the infirmary aisle, his bedclothes dragging behind him, bellowing loudly enough to wake the dead. It was already a matter of record that several of the dead, including the Nearly Headless Nick, and the fat Friar filed complaints against Draco's noise with the Headmaster.

Draco looked so miserable in his extensive gel-plasters that Hermione really hadn't the heart to fight with him. For Draco scratching was impossible now. His hands, like the rest of him, were encased in a gelatin like substance. When trying to ease his itching he could only jiggle which made him much resemble a trifle in an earthquake. "I hate Pomfrey and I hate you!" spat Draco in a long whinge. "You are both cruel, selfish and have no consideration at all for a poor, dying... for a wealthy, dying lad!"

Hermione indulgently stroked Draco's chest, and smiled because it felt rather as if she was stroking the Sunday pudding. Although the patting did nothing for Draco's itchiness, Hermione's indulgence did much to soothe his temper and Draco settled down like a hound getting a tummy rub. Staring at Draco, it occurred to Hermione the gel-plasters were only a half-inch thick over Draco's face. Hermione darted away from Draco.

"SSStop tthap! Where are you going? No, don't leave," Draco begged.

Hermione smiled back at him and quickly flung shut the screen enclosing Draco's infirmary bed. She lunged at the small slit over Draco's mouth and pressed her lips through the gel. Their lips met like two pair of randy pink gumdrops. Soon their limber tongues were slip sliding through the gel slit. The smooth mint flavored gel was rather inspiring to their snogging, like a new sort of oral sex toy and in no time at all the infirmary, was no longer filled with Draco's indignant hollering but was filled instead with the lad's lusty moans.

"MADAME POMFREY!" called out Hannah Abbott from her infirmary bed across the aisle. The tiny blonde had come to enjoy squealing on Draco as an enjoyable way to pass time in the infirmary. Even encased in gel, Draco was usually up to something, and if Granger was around, there was sure to be something for Abbott to report. "MALFOY AND GRANGER ARE DOING NASTY THINGS - IN BED!"

At the end of the long infirmary room, Madame Pomfrey dropped her tray and flew up the corridor at a dead run. She was remarkably agile for a woman of her years. Reaching Draco's screen she flung it back and faced a disarming scene.

"...Cladiccia led the rival goblin hordes against the invading giants in 1066 ad.... Oh!" said Hermione looking up, her pink face awash with dubious innocence. "Madame Pomfrey, is there anything wrong?" Hermione sat, a large leather bound tome balanced on her knee.

"Hermione," asked Draco in his best little boy voice. "Read to me again about long, thick, invasive hordes entering the narrow little straits of Cladiccia?" He sprayed spittle with every syllable. He smiled at Pomfrey. "I love history."

"A history lesson," said Madame Pomfrey disbelievingly. "Miss Granger I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. It is time..." Pomfrey steeled herself for the most grueling task of her day. "For Malfoy's sleeping potion, his breakfast, a bed bath and change of plasters, not necessarily in that order."

"DAMN IT WOMAN," spat Draco kicking into full rant mode. "You're not giving ME another bed bath you daft cow! And I'll have no watery porridge for my breakfast! I want rashers! Yes, rashers, a couple of eggs, bangers and some toast with jam! And kippers! Yes, KIPPERS, and I want it NOW!" Draco kicked so energetically his 'leash' broke. Powered by his violent kicks, he floated off, several feet from his bed, over the shining marble floor. Hermione lunged grabbing Draco unceremoniously by one arm, and yanked him back over his bed. Hermione retied Draco's leash to the headboard, while Draco and Pomfrey glared at each other hotly, entrenched in their first standoff of the day.

"You see here young man..." began Madame Pomfrey.

"Madame," suggested Hermione in a twee voice. "I can feed Draco his breakfast. And if you like," Hermione took her chance. "I can bathe him for you." Hermione's suggestion was kindly, but suspect; there was a touch of lust about the girl's eyes.

"How very kind of you," said Pomfrey choking back a laugh at Hermione's audacity. "I can manage Malfoy." With no further ado, from the side table Pomfrey snatched up a bottle of sleeping potion uncorked it and poured a measure of it down Draco's throat. She then clamped her hand over his mouth before he could spit the potion out. Like a veterinarian dosing a stubborn dog or cat, Pomfrey worked Draco's throat forcing him to swallow.

"HELP!" yelped Draco when Pomfrey released her grip. "See what I put up with," Draco yelped, thoroughly wetting down both Pomfrey and Hermione with sprayed spit. "Petals..."

"There! Now Miss Granger," said Pomfrey calmly. "I have just enough time to feed Malfoy before he falls asleep, and then I'll tend to his toilet without fear of being kicked."

From across the aisle, Abbott burst into maniacal laughter. "Malfoy's TOILET! HA HAAA HA HA!" The girl was apparently as desperate for entertainment as Draco.

"Miss Abbott, you may laugh, but you are next!" scolded Pomfrey in a loud voice. "Now all of you behave yourselves. Miss Granger I've told you a dozen times, these bed screens are to remain open at all times. Next time I see Malfoy's screen closed, you will be banned from the infirmary for a full day." Pomfrey cleared her throat and spoke clearly. "Malfoy, Draco, breakfast!"

There was loud 'poof' sort of noise like the flatulence of an overlarge farm animal, and a covered metal bowl on a tray appeared on the bedside table. Pomfrey lifted the lid and took up the small crockery bowl that held an unappetizing watery, grayish gruel. She stuffed a spoonful of the unappetizing stuff into Draco's mouth.

Draco promptly spat the gruel out. "See? Sssee what I have to put up with?" He sputtered a shower of gruel. He tilted his head forward as best he could and craned his neck to see Hermione over the gel-plasters. "I'm sick, need my strength, but I'm fed this ssssubstandard crap that Pomfrey here probably has the sssstinking house elves mix up in a bedpan!"

"YES MALFOY, MIXED UP IN MY BEDPAN!" Abbott shrieked with laughter from across the aisle.

Hermione smiled and slung her school bag back over her shoulder. "Good day Madame Pomfrey. Have a lovely sleep Draco. I'll see you right after morning classes. Poor dear. I know how sad you are, missing your end of term exams." Shaking her head, and leaving behind the sound of spitting and screaming, Hermione headed for the infirmary door.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ron carelessly threw some shirts and a couple of jumpers into his trunk that lay open at the foot of his four-poster. It was nearly midnight but all the boys were not yet back in their dorm room for the night.

Neville, lying on his back on his four-poster, laid down his book and queried Ron in a perplexed voice. "Why are you packing your trunk?"

"Yes Ron," said Dean who was lying with his head drooping off his four-poster. He viewed Ron and Neville from an interesting upside down perspective. "You never pack until McGonagall calls from downstairs for us to get into the coaches and leave for Hogsmeade station. Why are you in a hurry to pack this year?"

"Because I want out," said Ron in an irritated voice. "I'm tired of the company around here."

Neither Dean nor Neville took offense. They knew just whose 'company' Ron was complaining about. Ron and Seamus squabbled on every possible point and at every possible opportunity. The continuous bickering was getting on everybody's nerves and the two boys spats had lost a considerable sum of house points for Gryffindor.

"I'm not leaving," announced Neville, with a look to see if he had shocked Ron or Dean. "There are some things worth staying over the holidays for," by which Neville meant that his girlfriend Fiona was staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. "It took twelve rounds of school owls flying post home to Gran, but I wore her down. She's finally agreed to let me stay here over Christmas." Neville's eyes went absolutely squishy-soft as he contemplated holiday activities with his sweetheart Fiona.

"Good for you Neville," said Ron, with a wry smirk. "Not a bad idea, staying here over the Holidays." Ron hesitated and then decided to break the news. "Worth considering I suppose... me staying here at Hogwarts, seeing a certain girl doesn't grow lonely."

"A certain girl? What certain girl?" Dean and Neville repeated in unison.

"Found yourself a girl desperate enough to be seen with you then Ron?" Neville teased.

"You've been holding back on us mate!" Dean sniggered. "What girl did you come up with that can stand the sight of freckles?"

"Shut up Dean," joshed Ron happily. "You're one big connected freckle yourself!"

"Yes," laughed Dean. "One big handsome freckle that suits the lovely Miss Su Li of Ravenclaw well enough. She calls me 'darling', and 'dreamy' too, thank you very much!" Dean smirked.

Ron and Neville greeted Dean's intriguing bit of news with laughs. Sly comments were made on Miss Li's many charms, particularly the girl's winsome smile, her girlish jiggly bits and her obvious need to borrow Harry's spectacles for a proper view of Dean.

Still laughing, Ron made a dive under his four-poster. Shortly thereafter he emerged on his knees, dangling his chessboard and gripping a handful of angry chess pieces he held pressed up against his stomach. The mob of wizard's chess pieces writhed in protest, reminiscent of Draco at his worst. The pawns jabbed at each other and at Ron with minute swords and one of the two queens gnawed at Ron's thumb like a tiny rodent.

"Unhand us varlet," bellowed a tiny black castle. Likewise all the chess pieces screamed out in protest having suddenly lost their peaceful spot under Ron's bed.

"Stop chewing on me Massie," Ron fussed at the queen. He was really quite fond of her. "And the rest of you lot," he scolded the remaining chess pieces. "Shut up before I cram you all up..."

"Don't yell at Massie," said Neville. "I like the little queen. She always does what I ask in a chess match. Ron, does your 'new' girl do what you ask?"

"Heaven's no..." Ron was shocked, fooled by Neville's quick change in the line of questioning. "Neville! I'm surprised at you! That Fiona has twisted your mind like a pretzel mate!"

There was a loud noise from across the room. Ron jerked his head around.

"A 'certain girl' is it then?" Seamus was standing in the doorway. He had entered unnoticed by Ron. "A cute lass, I suppose?"

"Seamus," growled Ron. "Never you mind what girl I'm interested in!"

Seamus slammed the door so hard the wardrobe doors around the room shuttered and the bedcurtains rattled on their rings. "Your girl?" Seamus snarled. "Like I'd be wanting your pitiful Weasley second-hand sweetheart."

Ron jumped to his feet and wheeled round to face Seamus. The two boys glared at each other, and it was obvious, the ill feelings between the two hot-blooded boys had not ended just because two weeks had passed or because Messalina had made her choice.

"Oh Crikey," fussed Dean flinging his book aside. "Here they go again Neville."

"You fecking, 'Selina stealer!" Ron barked at Seamus and bunged his chess pieces into his trunk. "You going to try and steal my new girl too?"

"You fire-bollocked, witch nabbing..." It was nearly midnight and Seamus was too tired to think of further insults, but he was not too tired to tear across the room after Ron. A body, not Ron's, collided with Seamus head-on. Two boys crashed heavily to the floor and both proceeded to groan in pain. Neville, who showed his Gryffindor 'stuff' more and more each day, had thrown himself at the infuriated Seamus.

"You two stop it! This has gone on long enough," shouted Neville who no doubt deserved a shoebox full of Gryffindor points. "Why you two are angry with each other in the first place? It was Zabini who wronged you lads, not each other. Why aren't you two angry with Zabini?"

"SHUT UP ABOUT 'LISSY!" Seamus bellowed.

"No, I won't!" Neville was perched on Seamus' back. "Ron is your friend. You two like each other! Seamus, how many times has Ron taken the blame for you when you pull stupid stunts like dropping Hiccough Sweets into Professor Snape's tea? And Ron, don't you remember how Seamus helped you practice every day for a month for the Quidditch team tryouts? And Seamus didn't even want try out for the team himself. He did because he's your mate and wanted to help you Ron!"

As angry as Seamus and Ron were, they admitted to themselves that all Neville said made sense. But Neville was not quite done with his intervention. "And anyway, just what did Messalina ever do for you two blokes?"

There were better questions Neville might have asked. Ron and Seamus could each think of dozens and dozens of things the wayward, chestnut haired girl had done for them. Each and every 'thing' done to the boy's delight, and to perfection. The faces of both Ron and Seamus came all over with residual lust.

Seamus quickly broke out of his dazed stupor. "GET OFF MY BACK NEVILLE!"

"NO," insisted Neville. Not until you and Ron shake hands and make up."

"You eedjit," snarled Seamus. And how will I be doing that with yourself sitting on me back?"

Neville ignored Seamus' "Ron! You come over here and offer your hand in friendship to Seamus here. Come on!"

By this time Dean got off his four-poster and marched over to the quarreling pair. "Neville is right. Go on you two, shake hands like gentlemen!"

Ron didn't budge. Dean marched across the carpet over to Ron. "Come on Ron, be reasonable." When Ron still didn't move, Dean got behind and pushed the stubborn redhead towards Seamus. Neville stood allowing Seamus to get onto his feet.

"Now, go on, shake hands," Dean barked at the stubborn pair and Neville rapidly nodded his head in agreement.

Slowly, Seamus offered his hand to Ron. Ron raised and offered his hand. Slowly, the two hands approached each other. Reconciliation glowed on the horizon. Then Seamus popped Neville a good one in the nose, Ron, kicked Seamus in the shins, following which Dean kicked Ron in the arse, so Neville knocked Dean off his feet and you get the general idea. The four boys were shortly down on the circular carpet, flaying away at each other, screaming and hollering as they went through every naughty word in their vocabularies, and invented a few new ones.

A sharp squeal of panic sounded from Neville; someone grabbed both hems of his pyjama trousers and gave a mighty tug. Suddenly Neville was without coverage for that he held near and dear. Angry and revengeful, Neville grabbed the nearest article of clothing and gave it a mighty tug. Dean, finding himself deprived of his pyjama top, retaliated and shortly, a pair of trousers was unbuckled and freed of its struggling, kicking owner. Now the swearing and screams of anger turned rapidly to indignant squeaks and squeals of shock as each wrestler found himself bare skinned and writhing naked on the floor in a pile of his dorm mates.

It was about the time the last bit of clothing was wrested from its offended and hysterical owner that Harry stepped into the room. Harry looked up in time to see Ron's red Chudley Cannons t-shirt sail in a high arch across the room, landing on Harry's head. Harry considered the flying shirt landing on his face, covering his eyes, to be a great bit of luck, as he really didn't want to see his dorm mates squirming naked on the floor like an overturned tin of flobberworms.

"Hermione dragged me with her to see Malfoy," announced Harry, from under cover of Ron's t-shirt. "What with the gel-plasters, the Slytherin shite looks like a great green pimple about to burst. No doubt about it now." Harry gave a resigned sigh. "That bastard Malfoy is going to live."

"Oh, tough luck there mate," hollered Dean, punching Seamus while keeping a knee flexed to protect his boy bits.

"Yeah, OUCH!" called out Seamus who was grappling Neville around the neck. "Yeah, the good die young, and then there's the Malfoys. Live on and on like a sock full of cockroaches, don't they?"

"Too bad it's not YOU laid up in the infirmary Seamus," hollered Ron from somewhere beneath the pile up. "Heaven knows I tried to put you there!"

"Shut your gob you great twat!" yelled Seamus. "You're the one who started the row! As if there wasn't enough of 'Lissy to go around! The lass had no problem with sharing, you selfish bastard!"

"You filthy...!" yelped Ron and the battle picked up anew.

Harry was too tired and absolutely too modest to enter the fray. He correctly reckoned although the battle probably started with anger, it was rapidly winding down into a late night bout of silliness. The telltale evidence signs were already largely evident - swearing had given way to intermittent high pitched, embarrassingly girlish sort of shrieks and there was far more giggling than any of the boys would admit to without a dark wizard's wand aimed at their heads. Even Ron and Seamus sniggering as they attempted to decapitate each other.

Harry shouted so the others could hear him above the scuffling.

"I'm done in! I'll sleep in my clothes on top of covers. I'll shower in the morning and then I'll check if that bastard Malfoy did us all a favor and drowned in his own drool or something." That said, 'dirty Harry' climbed fully clothed onto his four-poster, shut his bed curtains and promptly fell asleep.

As the percentage of yawns exceeded the laugher, Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville eventually ceased their battling and sat up on the carpet. The four were naked as newly hatched dragons. They modestly covered their privates while peering round at each other with big cheesy grins.

"Go on Ron, Seamus," commanded Dean. " You two gits shake hands!"

Once again, Seamus held out his hand to Ron, which ended with arm wrestling, but their anger was spent and the two were again, at long last friends - fast friends with a fast ex-girlfriend in common.

"A fine bitseach, I mean, a fine lass is 'Lissy, is she not?" lamented Seamus, always willing to tread where devils dared not go.

Ron nodded, his eyes half closed in remembered bliss. "Yes... didn't 'Selina have the softest...?"

"Too right you are!" laughed Seamus. "Soft as butter. Oooh, and 'Lissy had the most unbelievable way of..."

"Oh yeah," agreed Ron nodding happily and chuckling. "Once she got started, 'Selina was enough to make you..."

"Aye, at least three or four times,' said Seamus nodding knowingly. He looked at Ron with a shake of his head. "So Ron, I am wondering if 'The Pride of the Boy's Dorm' there," Seamus indicated Ron's crotch. "Will ever know a sweeter, more tempting piece of..."

"Ask him the morning, will you?" fussed Dean, hopping up and down on one leg as he pulled on his retrieved pyjama trousers.

Out of the four, it was Neville who was absolutely NOT entertained by the wrestling match. Neville scrambled up from the carpet and stood proud and tall in all his nakedness and announced, "That fight was NOT fun, NOT amusing, and I don't ever want to even hear this 'incident' mentioned again, ever!" Neville turned to walk toward his four-poster.

Neville's angry tirade immediately lost its sting as his dorm mates got a lovely... view... of Neville's left bum cheek which showcased an adorable heart shaped pattern of somewhat faded love bites in the shape of a heart. Ron and Seamus broke into snorts of laugher. There was no doubt that Neville's girl Fiona was as talented in her monogamous way as was Messalina.

Seamus sniggered. "There Ron, you see that mate? It's Neville himself who is 'THE MAN' of this dorm room now. You and I are just poor sodding, wannabe-Nevilles." With that wise observation the boys shuffled off to their four-posters and settled down for a nice snooze. At least a couple of the young wizards indulged themselves in a nice comforting wank, which sent them peacefully off into pleasant dreams.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Come on Draco," coaxed Hermione. "Come on, just walk up the aisle and back. I promised Pomfrey you would walk the length of the infirmary four times a day to help you regain your strength."

Draco rolled over and pulled the bedclothes over his head. He complained weakly. "Let me sleep." Healing was a tiring business and although the agonies of the gel-bandages were gone for good, and although he'd had hours and hours of restful, nightmare-free sleep, Draco had never felt so exhausted in his entire life.

"Draco...?" Hermione sat watching Draco who closed his eyes and gradually drifted back to sleep, still under the continuous influence of Pomfrey's dreamless sleep potion. Even in his sleep Draco was a bit of a rogue he made a flurry of interesting... noises before he quieted and snoozed tranquilly. Draco looked as innocent as a three year old, regardless of whatever he was gripping under his bedclothes. Hermione pondered how Draco could be so fractious and yet look so sweet. Draco seemed akin to a colorful jellyfish that enchanted the senses and yet packed a deadly sting. Hermione thought there was much to be said for not judging a book by its cover. She decided to wait until the next time Draco woke on his own, and then march him up and down the corridor.

Exams were over and it was only a day before Christmas holidays began. Hermione had permission from her parents to remain at Hogwarts under the pretense of studying for the upcoming O.W.L. exams. For several days now Hermione spent most of her time curled up with texts by Draco's bedside. As Draco slept most of the time, Harry often kept Hermione company, facing away from Draco while polishing his Firebolt. Sometimes Harry read 'interesting' magazines supplied by Seamus Finnegan and frowned on by Hermione who took her Prefect position seriously unless it involved herself and Draco. Hermione noted with annoyance, Harry's breathing pattern always changed dramatically when he read from Seamus' dubious personal library.

But on this particular evening, Hermione sat alone by slumbering Draco's bedside. The winter sun had long since disappeared but stars had not yet put in an appearance. Hermione sat slumped, her feet up on Draco's bed, reviewing her favorite advanced Arithmancy text. In the midst of contemplating the wonders of inversely charmed integers, she had a surprising and sudden thought. Her evil Slytherin was no longer encased in the soothing gel-plasters. Add to that, it also occurred to Hermione that Draco, having thwarted all of Madame Pomfrey's efforts to put him in proper pyjamas, was sleeping beneath his bedclothes - starkers.

As thoughts of Draco's state of undress entered Hermione, her mind shifted all the shunts, dials and knobs of self-control. Nothing remained in the girl's normally sensible Prefect's mind, save for a scant handful of thoughts; the love of her life lay helpless only inches away under rumpled bedclothes, and he was as naked as the day he was born. It further occurred to Hermione, there were fourteen year's interesting improvements on what was once an innocent blonde baby boy, and while she herself was wide awake, her dear 'Cocoa' was fast asleep.

Surely, the boy ought not mind if she had a little peek? After all, if the tables were turned, and it was she lying naked beneath the bedclothes, there was no doubt but that Draco would while away the hours playing 'Tit for Tat' with her breasts. And anyway, the girl thought, it simply was not fair that Draco had often seen and thoroughly enjoyed most every square inch of her, while she had only observed Draco above the waist and below his ankles - and nothing in-between.

How intolerably unfair.

Hermione stood up and breaking Pomfrey's strict orders, she quietly pulled round the screens to conceal Draco's infirmary bed. Hermione stood for a few minutes, and watched Draco. He was freed of the binding plasters and as Snape had predicted, Draco's skin had grown back, fresh, soft and pink as a newborn baby's bum. The healthy glow of new skin added to the angelic look on Draco's pointed face. He looked like an adolescent cherub. No one who saw the boy could have expected anything less than to find soft angel's wings sprouting from his shoulder blades.

"You ought not be so pretty Cocoa... It doesn't seem right somehow for a boy," whispered Hermione to herself, and she nervously bit her lip. To Hermione, even Draco's fringe seemed a miracle. He had lost all of the hair on his body when the lightning strike set him ablaze, but under the influence of Snape's draught, all of Draco's hair had grown rapidly back in thick curls. The overall picture of Draco was almost too much for the girl to bear. Hermione reached out and gently touched Draco's soft silky fringe, whitish with a glint of gold. Draco rolled onto his back, his head lolled towards Hermione like a flower tracking the sun. Draco made a soft snoring noise. Drool threaded down his unnaturally soft, pink cheek.

Hermione held her breath and stood poised, listening to assure herself that Abbott, in a bed across the aisle was sleeping. Madame Pomfrey was off in her offices, counting supplies. Slowly Hermione moved her hand, taking a firm grip of the bedclothes. In one smooth motion the bedclothes were pulled free of her fingers, flung to the foot of the bed by the devilish, and wide-awake Draco.

"VOILA," shouted the wicked boy, the covers now completely free of his naked body. Hermione let out a shriek and leapt backwards with such force that she fell over the chair, hitting the floor with a dreadful clatter. Draco hooted with laugher and he sat up so he could look down and laugh at the stunned look on Hermione's face. On the other side of the room the noise momentarily woke Abbott who called out 'Mummy?' and drifted back asleep again.

Still howling with laughter, Draco snorted through his nose and beat his newly unplastered fist on the bed. "So, what'd you think Petals? Did you find the 'grand unveiling' worth the wait?"

Hermione picked herself off the floor, fuming with annoyance at the Draco's little joke at her expense. She had fallen over so quickly she saw nothing of the boy's bare body. Indignantly she rose up intending to shriek at Draco. But rest assured, as Hermione stood up, her attention was immediately diverted. The girl froze on the spot like a setter dog pointing to a shrub full of plump partridge.

"So?" snorted Draco still laughing, lolling naked, totally unashamed. His chest and flat stomach heaved as he gasped for breath between hoots of hilarity. "Oooo I itch, but it's worth it" Happily with a wicked little smile, Draco began to scratch himself in earnest, working both hands busily upwards along his naked thighs.

"Wow," Hermione gasped breathlessly. Her eyes seemed the size of bludgers. "I mean, like wow Draco! Awesome. Lovely. Oh, no, lovely doesn't... can't cover the... matter. I, I hardly know what to say!"

"Let me help. Does 'spectacular' come to mind Luv?" Draco suggested. "Or impressive? Oh, I know. Fucking stupendous?"

"Good heavens, yes," spurted Hermione, for once the articulate girl was nearly at a loss for adequate words to describe what lay stretched out before her. "You evil thing, how could you keep such a ... secret?"

"Do you really like it then? Don't find it too big, too small?"

Hermione gave a discretely low wolf whistle. "Oh my heavens no Cocoa, it's bloody perfect! Just perfect! When you bragged and bragged about... THAT... I thought you were just... just making a mountain out of a molehill."

"Molehill? Is that some muggle expression Petals?" Draco scolded jovially. "No matter. You know I would never exaggerate about something like this. No need to exaggerate." Draco looked down at himself, and took up scratching his groin. "That would be redundant. I mean... just look at it. Rather makes a fellow proud. Petals," Draco proudly announced. "What you see here before you, is the pride of the Slytherin boys dorm!"

"Well, it's just super Cocoa. Impressive." Hermione moved forward and giggled softly. She reached out her hand and lovingly stroked it. With a pleased look, she leaned back slightly to better admire the view. "So, when do I get to see it... do something?"

"Like what?" asked Draco with a lazy yawn. "Spit fire? Oh, I don't know Petals," Draco began scratching his neck. "Soon enough I suppose."

"It's so very red Cocoa," said Hermione looking entranced. "I hadn't expected it to be quite so red."

"What? For Salazar's sake witch," snorted Draco. "What did you expect it to be? White? Baby pink? Slytherin green?"

"And, the ruffled gold... thing, the fringe around the...the head. Honestly Draco," Hermione shook her head in amazement. "Honestly... yours is simply the finest tattoo I've ever seen anywhere. A Chinese Fireball Dragon then, isn't it?"

"What else?" Draco grinned, a proud smirk spread across his face.

"Lovely work, simply lovely." Hermione reached out and traced the dragon tattoo again with a finger. As she reached and traced the dragon's tail she dissolved into giggles. "Oh, and Draco, your penis. Your penis is quite lovely too!" Hermione covered her mouth with one hand and tittered. "And quite happy to see me too, isn't it?"

"Well damn me, yes it's happy to see you." Draco said gazing proudly at the appendage in question. "It's waited a bloody long time for the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Do you think you'll fancy the little golden ring at the very end there?"

Hermione nodded. "Cocoa?" Hermione asked in a curious, and yet academic, voice. "Based on what I see before me, tell me. Why aren't your hands and feet larger?"

Draco ignored Hermione's question. "Here Petals! Want to see my Fireball tattoo wag its 'tail'?" Lying back on his elbows, Draco raised his hips slightly off the bed undulating his stomach muscles making the dragon tattoo appear to dance. The Fireball's nose and golden fringe-framed face began just below Draco's navel. From Draco's navel the dragon's long red coils crisscrossed down his stomach, back and forth and ended with the fireball's tail. The dragon's proud tail extended all the way to the end of Draco's very favorite boy part. To add to the overall picture, the dragon's tail sported the small golden ring. The tail, as Hermione noted, was as high and proud on Draco as a mast on an ocean schooner. As Draco grinned at Hermione he began to slowly sway his raised hips from side to side. The Fireball's tail, did indeed 'wag', a highly naughty sight to behold. Entirely mesmerized, Hermione watched the Fireball's tail, as stunned as when she once stared into a mirror to view the massive yellow eyes of a basilisk.

And yes - for the immensely curious among you - the Fireball's tail was of the turtleneck sort.

With no warning, the screen surrounding Draco's bed flew aside with a loud clang and a noisy rattle.

"MR. MALFOY! MISS GRANGER!" Professor Snape stood, his eyes blazing. Angered, Snape was at nearly as dangerous as a basilisk.

Both Draco and Hermione yelped, scared so silly they shook. Draco scrambled to the foot of his bed, pulling the covers up over himself, putting the entire dragon at bay. Holding her breath, Hermione steeled herself in anticipation of - at the very least - expulsion from Hogwarts.

"Good evening Professor Snape," drawled Draco, rapidly remembering his status and regaining his calm. With an air of privilege he snapped with annoyance at his professor. "Really Professor Snape, how rude of you not to knock! I was exhibiting my personal body art to my girlfriend, Miss Granger. You interrupted us. And worse, you have embarrassed Miss Granger!"

Draco sat up in bed, his arms crossed. He appeared to be waiting for an apology from Snape. Had Draco received such an apology, the event would have accompanied by pigs flying about by the infirmary windows and a lovely ice skating holiday in Hades.

Ignoring Draco's impertinence, Snape peered down at the boy with equal calm.

"Mr. Malfoy," snarled Snape. "Do you think I care what you do with your sexuality? For all I care, you students can swap body fluids with each other like you exchange chocolate frog cards. It makes no difference to me as long as whatever you do doesn't result in medical epidemics or new brats to teach in my Potions class nine months, eleven years down the pike."

Taking a minute, Snape glared angrily at Hermione as though he'd always suspected the girl's studiousness was a shallow disguise for her true wanton nature. "Five points from Gryffindor for loud squealing in the infirmary which is it be quiet at all times so patients, such as Mr. Malfoy here, may enjoy a peaceful recovery. You are a Prefect Miss Granger," Snape added with a hint of a nasty grin. "You ought to know better.

Although her mouth flew open in righteous indignation, Hermione said nothing.

"Now, as I have just seen for myself Mr. Malfoy, you have recovered well under the Lacerta Draught. I must commend Madame Pomfrey for her skilled nursing. I wonder," Snape turned his coal black eyes to Hermione. "Perhaps Mr. Malfoy, you might have recovered faster had you not been pestered by the overzealous 'attentions' of Miss Granger. I regret you did not take to heart my advice about getting your rest."

"I largely thank you for my recovery Sir," said Draco in a genuinely grateful voice. Draco ignored the comments about Hermione. The girl, was now fuming.

Snape's voice took on a very different tone. "Miss Granger, please leave. I have a matter to discuss with Mr. Malfoy."

"No," said Hermione angrily. "I know what you are going to say." She moved to Draco's side and sat on the bed. "I must be here when you tell him." She placed a protective arm over Draco's shoulders.

"What's this?" Draco was sitting up and he looked frantically from Snape to Hermione. He didn't have a good feeling.

Snape glared at Hermione but the girl would not be moved by dirty looks from an angry professor. "Have it your way again Miss Granger." Snape ignored Hermione now. "Mr. Malfoy, I would have discussed this matter with you two weeks ago, but I had a weak moment. I allowed your 'friend' Miss Granger to have a say in the matter.

Mr. Malfoy, you ought to realize, a lightning strike such as hit you, packed enough wallop to kill you, outright. Have you wondered why you survived?"

"Thought I was tough," suggested Draco. "I was lucky Professor?"

"You were more than lucky Mr. Malfoy,' said Snape. "Were you a muggle you would be dead. But you are a wizard; the powerful jolt of electricity from the lightning strike caused a highly unusual involuntary reaction of your magical essences, your magical 'power'.

Draco's heart was beating like tropical drums. " Sir, I don't understand what you are saying."

Snape paced at the foot of Draco's bed in an uncharacteristic nervous manner.

"Mr. Malfoy, as the lightning struck your body, your magic, your wizard essences, counteracted the lightning, spontaneously forming a shield to protect you, keep you alive. You may recall how bright the light was in the stadium for several seconds following the strike. Didn't it seem a long time to you? A long time for the stadium to remain lit?"

"Yes, Professor," said Hermione. "Light travels rapidly, and I thought there may have been several bolts of lightning going all at once. I mean, I noticed how long the light lasted too."

Snape gave Hermione a look that shut her up. "As I was saying Mr. Malfoy, when the bolt struck, your magical essence raced forward to shield you rather like a guard dog racing forward to take on its master's foe."

"Nonsense Professor Snape. Do you mean my 'magic' acted independently to protect me?" Draco's face screwed up incredulously. "Pardon me Professor, but that sounds like a load of rubbish."

"No, Draco, the Professor is giving you the truth," said Hermione quietly.

"Fine," said Draco nervously. "But so what? Not as if I was not in danger anyway. I caught fire after all and the fire is what nearly killed me. Fat lot of good any 'magical shield' did me." Draco was still puzzled, but relieved. He had thought he might still be in some sort of immediate danger.

"You are correct Mr. Malfoy," continued Snape. "But you still do not comprehend. That you were set aflame was only bad luck. Had you not caught fire, you would have emerged from the strike completely and utterly unscathed by the lightning strike."

Draco noted that his professor still looked decidedly uncomfortable. What else could be wrong?

Snape stopped pacing. When he again began to speak, his voice had a quality about it, innately unnerving to Draco; the quality was pity.

"Mr. Malfoy. I know someone, a wizard. Struck by lightning when he was a boy, 10 years of age. He was hunting for frogspawn in the springtime. Mr... I mean, the wizard told me he was standing in a pond and it began to rain. A bolt of lightning struck him. We all know that normally lightning does a witch or wizard little harm. That is because as I told you, our magic protects us. But when the lightening hit this wizard it knocked him cold. He was not set him on fire. When the wizard woke, he thought he was all right." Snape stopped pacing and gave a hard stare frightening Draco to the tips of his toes.

"You must understand, in this rare case, when all of the boy's magic exited to oppose the force of the lightning, due to some quirk of the atmosphere, or perhaps just a cruel twist of fate, the magic did not reenter his body and..." Snape, heartless as he was, could not bring himself finish his own sentence. Nor would Snape say the boy of whom he spoke was the Hogwarts caretaker Mr. Argus Filch.

"You are saying Sir, " Draco said in a weak voice. "Do you mean the boy lost his magic, his magical 'essence'? He became a, a, a, squib? Is that what you are mean Professor?" The blood drained rapidly from Draco's face and he was now paler than Snape. Draco flung himself at the far side of his bed and explosively retched onto the floor. Hermione leapt after Draco, hugging him and patting his trembling, sweaty back.

"We don't know that Draco, we don't!" Hermione insisted. "We don't know yet...if you are a..." Hermione could not say the frightening word either.

Coughing, his eyes red and watering, Draco sat up. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed Hermione away. He faced Snape again. "Professor," his voice rasped. "Are you saying... that I am... a squib?"

"Perhaps, if in reaction to the lightning strike, your magical powers were dispersed in the atmosphere above Hogwarts and indeed, did not return to you, then yes. You may be like a muggle," Snape sighed heavily. "If so, your powers are utterly irretrievably gone and you have no more power than a true...." Snape could not bring himself to again say the dreaded word, 'squib'.

Hermione flung her arms around Draco's neck and whispered into his ear. "Draco, no matter what, I love you. And anyway, we don't know you are without your powers."

Draco was so panicked he could scarcely take notice of the arms about his neck.

"Now Mr. Malfoy," said Snape in a matter of fact voice. "I'm sure all of our concerns are unwarranted. There is a simple test. Please. Take up your wand and perform some small spell or charm and put all our fears for you to rest. This can all become an amusing and frightening anecdote for your grandchildren on Halloweens to come."

With trembling hands, Hermione left Draco's side and fished the boy's wand from a drawer of his bedside stand. The wand suffered a touch of fire damage but Hermione herself polished and waxed Draco's wand back to an acceptable state. As she had done so she was mindful that Draco might not have a use for a wand.

"Here Draco," said Hermione encouragingly. She forced herself to smile. "Take your wand. I know you still have your magic. I can tell. Here. Show us." Draco stared at the wand in Hermione's hand as though he didn't know the purpose of the shining rod of wood. Gently, Hermione placed the wand on his palm and pressed his fingers tight over the wand. In a little act of love, she tenderly kissed the fingers of Draco's trembling wand hand. "Go on Cocoa," she whispered and took several steps backwards. "Show us."

The quaking boy had to fight to maintain a steady grip on his wand and he gamely fought a new wave of nausea. Then Draco noted with some relief that his wand hand felt relatively strong. He owed that much to Pomfrey who insisted on putting him through stretching and flexing spells to keep up his joint and muscle flexibility during his recovery. He felt damned near grateful to Madame Pomfrey for her care.

After a quiet moment with his eyes shut, Draco put on an easy smile, which he didn't feel at all. He looked over to a wheeled infirmary tray that stood, piled with sweets, treats and presents which he had been gifted with during his recovery. Faking an air of unconcern, Draco flicked and swished his wand.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

Snape and Hermione held their breath momentarily, and unnecessarily as a large chunk of chocolate floated up from the nightstand and landed on Draco's open palm.

Flippantly, Draco said, "Honeyduke's best. Fancy a bite Professor?" Draco was not as calm as he looked. Relief flooded his body and his wand hand continued to shake as his fears began to dissipate. Draco's face remained white as paste.

"Draco!" squealed Hermione. She threw her arms around Draco and hugged him so tightly he couldn't breath. He had a coughing fit and feigning an annoyed look, he pushed Hermione away again.

Professor Snape smiled broadly, a smile as large as if he'd heard Dumbledore had come to his senses and was expelling Potter. Snape smiled so wide that his lips nearly parted and for one shining magical moment, one almost caught a glimpse of gleaming yellow teeth.

"Thank you Professor," said Draco soberly.

"No thank you Mr. Malfoy," said Snape dropping the smile and returning to his dour self. "So, no problems here. Your power repelled the lightning strike and then crawled back up your privileged little purebred bum where it belongs."

Hermione gasped and her hands flew to her mouth to hear a professor speak so. Draco however knew Snape was feeling absolutely jubilant, and he laughed at his Professor's little good-natured jest.

"Malfoy, you have set our minds at ease with that little demonstration of your excellent wand hand. I am greatly, no, I am immensely pleased."

Draco nearly expected Snape to dance a little jig, and had the professor done so, Draco would have joined him.

Now feeling a bit perky, Draco broke two small chunks from the chocolate. He popped one into Hermione's mouth and swallowed a morsel for himself.

"Indulge in some chocolate Professor?" offered Draco, feeling queasy from ingesting something other than gruel or broth.

Snape raised an eyebrow attentively and shook his head.

Draco happily used his wand to send the remaining chocolate flying back to the nightstand. Draco decided he would never take wand work for granted ever, ever again. "You are pleased, aren't you Professor?" He smiled at Snape.

"Of course I am pleased," said Snape. "I shouldn't want to lose one of my best pupils."

Draco looked annoyed.

I AM the best you miserable, grooming impaired old...

It occurred to Draco it might be a good time to bring up a matter he thought about often during his recovery. "Professor, I have wanted to tell you something for some time. About... about the about the packing slip, about the plants. ..."

Draco looked at Hermione who still sat by his side. Hermione perked up and nodded, so Draco continued.

"Professor Snape, I have wanted to tell you that I did something; something bad." Draco's face was awash with remorse. "When I think of all the kind things you've done for me over the years. I am so ashamed of my actions."

"Let's have it," said Snape.

Draco looked down, studying his own feet that peeked out from under the bedclothes. "Sir... sometimes it's hard to know the right thing to do. Sometimes the right thing to do isn't all that obvious. I know I ought to have said something sooner."

"Just what exactly are you telling me Mr. Malfoy?" Snape looked hopeful.

"The packing slip from that plant supply house... the one that caused that row in your classroom... that slip belonged to Weasley! Weasley knew that a pureblood like me was bound to have sensitive skin and he purposely poisoned me with those toxic plants, and he wanted to disrupt your classroom too - that Gryffindor scoundrel! All of it, my allergies, the rebellion in your Potions class, all of it was absolutely Weasley's fault. Oh, and Potter too," said Draco eagerly nodding.

"You...!" Hermione sputtered. Draco placed a hand over her mouth and put a finger to his lips to shush the annoying girl. He continued. "Potter provided Weasley with the Galleons to purchase those plants. I mean, you know Weasley couldn't afford to buy a cauldron to piss in, much less so many expensive plants. Really professor, I ought have told you sooner but... you know." Draco flicked his head towards Hermione. "Weasley and Potter are her friends." He smiled slyly at Hermione who looked ready to implode. "Isn't that right Miss Granger?"

Hermione slapped Draco's hand from her mouth. "You devilish, evil...!" She lunged at Draco with intent to wrap his own wand about his neck. Quickly Draco grabbed both Hermione's wrists and yanked her to him. Off balance, squealing and yelping Hermione fell forward, her face mashed against Draco's bare chest, her voice muffled. Hermione sounded like an angry cat in sack.

Draco struggled, holding his arms wrapped tight around Hermione. He politely explained to Snape, "Granger is overcome with embarrassment over the poor behavior of her friends. It's abominable how those two treat this girl."

Draco struggled to contain Hermione, which as he was still unrecovered from his illness was not easy. The furious witch bit Draco on one of his nipples.

"AAARRRGGGHHHH," squealed Draco through clenched teeth.

Snape placed a hand on his forehead, nursing the early stage of a migraine headache. "Mr. Malfoy," Snape said slowly. "I must say in all my years heading Slytherin house, I never met a student more... more Slytherin than yourself."

"Why thank you Professor," squeaked Draco with tears of pain draining from his eyes. "I'm all choked up by your kind words. Now, I am sleepy. Can you excuse me? I want to kiss my girlfriend here good night, send her off to and get some sleep. Healing is tiring work. All this activity has done me in." Draco grabbed one of Hermione's flaying arms and clamped it between his coverlet draped knees. Hermione head butted Draco who fell backwards, his head hitting the bedstead with a loud metallic clang. "ARGHHH! Really sir, could you leave? I really need my rest."

Professor Snape rolled his eyes. "I'll wait just over by the door Mr. Malfoy. You two have five minutes to say 'good night', or 'drop dead' or whatever it is you have to say to each other before parting for the evening. The bed screens MUST remain open. Miss Granger? Are you listening? It is already past curfew so I will personally escort you back to Gryffindor Commons. Hurry and say your good nights. And Miss Granger, ten points from Gryffindor house for biting an infirmary patient, like some blasted deranged Doxie"

Still rubbing his temples, Snape left the struggling pair to wait outside the infirmary doors. He muttered to himself. "Vicious, oversexed, barely civilized...." Snape's snarled criticisms continued long after he made it into the hallway, and he never repeated the same deficiency twice. Snape had built an impressive vocabulary of pejorative adjectives over the years.

Meanwhile, Draco released Hermione and then backed up, covering his face so Hermione couldn't slap him, and you may rest assured, she tried.

"Draco, you lied to Snape!" Hermione hissed, vibrating with exasperation. "And you placed the blame on Ron and Harry! How could you?"

"You bit my nipple!" Draco whinged.

"You lying, deceitful, disreputable, scheming, albino bunny coloured, candy-floss headed, alleged duckling killing..."

"Oh shut the fuck up! Nearly bit off my nipp... my pink bit you she-devil! Look, it's almost bleeding," Draco rubbed his sore nipple. "First of all Snape doesn't believe my cock and bull story. Didn't you see his face? Priceless." Draco stifled a laugh and sucking his teeth from the pain, continuing to rub his nipple. "Secondly the entire packing slip thing was all Weasley's fault in the first place."

Hermione began to shout. "Ron's fault?" Her eyes almost bugged from her head. "It was Ron's fault that Snape baited his classroom with spiders the size of bowling balls?"

Draco left off pampering his nipple and grabbed Hermione, a hand over her mouth to shut her up. "The way I see it, Weasley can bloody well shoulder some of the blame for that packing slip. And Potter... uh, well Potter was even more innocent than Weasley, but damn me, a Slytherin's got to do what a Slytherin's got to do. And third, and most important of all, what I told Snape serves you right Petals! You knew about the magic and lightning, every bit of it! And bowling balls... just how the fuck can bowls have balls?"

Draco released Hermione and the girl stared daggers, cursed wands and sharp fingernails at him.

Draco was not done fussing. "I'd say we are even in the honesty department Petals. You didn't tell me the truth, I didn't tell Snape the truth. You knew I might be a squib. A squib! And you didn't tell me you heartless witch? How DARE you keep such a thing from me Petals. Did you tell your Potty and the Weasel about me? Did they laugh when you told them I might be a squib?"

For a long minute the two stared at each other. Draco looked genuinely hurt. The new skin on his cheeks were flushed scarlet.

"Cocoa..." said Hermione, calming down in the face of Draco's true worries, not to mention his guileless gaze. "How could you even imagine that I would run to Harry or Ron to tell them something that would hurt you so? You know I'd never, ever intentionally harm you."

"I have a nipple that says otherwise," whinged Draco. "See how red it is?" Draco's eyes widened. "Look, look, see here? On my nipp... isn't that blood?" He stared carefully at the infinitesimally teeny red spot and then shot Hermione a reproachful look.

"I can kiss it better if you like," said Hermione. She lowered her eyes, fluttered her lashes a bit and then stared up through her eyelashes at Draco. Hermione picked that trick up from observing Messalina trapping boys in the Great Hall.

"No, you'll kiss my nipple back into a plaster you wicked witch," Draco eyes went soft. "I love you my Gryffindor 'bay-ay-bee'. Admit you love me. Here, let's hurry. We have just enough time for a lovely snog before Snape drags you off to Gryffindor. I bet along the way he finds an excuse to take fifty points from Gryffindor, and give you detention scrubbing my bedpans. Let's have a grand snog, so noisy wet and slippery, Snape will go to his dungeon with impure thoughts and spend half the night touching himself. Here, my sweet, let me get you started on our snog. I'll light my own fire."

Grinning at his own little jest, Draco pursed his lips and with a deep breath, he blew out.

Nothing happened.

Draco stared at the bit of flameless airspace in front of his face. He was speechless. He blew again, and again - nothing happened. "Petals?" Draco squeaked. "By Salazar's heart... what the...?"

At least a full two minutes of their precious five minutes went to staring at the empty bit of airspace in front of Draco's mouth as he attempted to blow flames, again, and again, and again and failed. Since his early infancy Draco blew flames, the mark of the spell that guarded his virginity. In his life he had never blown so without flames erupting forth. Yet, now fire, the mark of the virginity-guarding spell, was conspicuously absent from Draco's mouth.

"Draco?" Hermione's intuitive instincts took over. "Draco... maybe what opposed the lightning and saved your life was not your magical essences. Maybe what protected you was the magic of that horrid virginity spell that Lord You-Know-Who forced upon you in your infancy! Your wizard powers, never exited your body in the first place. That horrid virginity spell is what left your body and 'sacrificed' itself, sparing your life. After the virginity magic saved you, due to some quirk the it dissipated into the atmosphere... it didn't crawl back up your ... back into you."

The 'bottom line' of the dearth of flames hit the two of them simultaneously.

"Hang on... Petals, the mark isn't the only thing that is gone, is it? The virginity protection spell no longer exists on me. And if that is true then I can... we can... Oh fuck Petals!"

"Yes! Now we can!" Hermione yelped. The two hearts beat like wings of snitches.

"We can do 'it' without dropping dead from the blasted virginity protection spell! Petals, we can do 'it' any time we want! My fireball's tail is in business!"

For at least fifteen seconds the two stared at each other hungrily. Draco was now totally free of both spells imposed on him in his infancy. One horrible spell gone due to Hermione's efforts and Harry's intuitive powers, and the other gone due to a cruel and kindly act of nature - a lightning strike.

"Oh my sweet little Gryffindor..." said Draco in a husky voice, fraught with boy thoughts of his Petal's bare moist skin and soft pink tender girl bits. Draco flicked his fringe like a fretting stallion sniffing the scent of a ready mare in the air.

"Draco... we can," Hermione felt her skin involuntarily flutter on her frame like the skin of a frisky mare.

Kneeling on the bed, Hermione squealed. "When? WHEN?"

"Right now. Draw the fucking screen," Draco's teeth chattered involuntarily. Other bits of him kept time to his teeth. "I think I made a bad joke!"

"Miss Granger!" yelled Snape from the infirmary doorway. "You and Mr. Malfoy have had your five minutes! Come along girl."

"Salazar's Sweaty Stalk!" swore Draco. "Petals? Can we heat in the mideaway? I mean, can we meet in the hideaway? We MUST meet in the hideaway tonight!"

"At midnight," whispered Hermione.

"That's more than two hours from now! Don't torture me!" whimpered Draco.

"It'll take time for the Commons to empty before I can leave without anyone knowing," said Hermione in a breathless voice.

"MISS GRANGER!" came Snape's impatient voice.

Draco and Hermione could hear Snape's steps echoing as he walked towards them from the infirmary doorway.

Hermione continued in a hurried, panicked whisper. "Anyway, you can't leave here before Pomfrey turns in for the night. Draco... what am I thinking? You're not well yet, you can't...you know... you're still sick."

"SHUT UP!" yelped Draco in a stage whisper. "I'm sick, I'm not dead! I'm ready right now so you just make sure you are waiting you know where, you know when. Sharpish like! Understand?"

"Kiss me Draco," cooed Hermione, her face an inch from Draco's.

"No... uh... no... uh," Draco pushed the girl's face away. "If you kiss me right now Pomfrey will have to change my sheets again. I've never been so excited in my life. Midnight; you, me, the Fireball's tail and fourteen years of my virginity will be gone in one hot, pulsating, sensuous, sticky, sweaty, slippery..."

"Fifteen years of my virginity will be only a memory... Draco, my sweet, my soft, no, my hard Cocoa-butter." She kissed her finger, and placed the wet digit to Draco's lips. Standing up, and attempting to regain her dignity, Hermione marched over to Professor Snape. "I'm ready Professor." And by Merlyn, was she ever.

"Fine Miss Granger," Snape said. As the two walked off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, Snape muttered under his breath. "If I were Mr. Malfoy I'd have found something more interesting to do for five minutes than to stare at dead airspace."

"Did you say something Professor?" asked Hermione in a distracted manner.

"Yes, Miss Granger," snapped Snape. "I said youth is wasted on the young."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that evening during her last round for the night, Madame Pomfrey was unpleasantly surprised to find an unexplained pool of sick by Draco's bedside. She was even more startled to discover Draco was decidedly undemanding. He didn't request the usual pillow fluffing, back massage, or even his daily manicure and pedicure. The normally demanding and fussy boy seemed to want for nothing at all. And contrary to his usual clambering for an extra measure of sleeping potion - which Pomfrey never granted - Draco refused to drink any sleeping potion at all. It was all quite puzzling to Pomfrey. She decided the Malfoy boy was perhaps reversing his wants as a new way to bedevil her, something he already excelled at.

"Now Mr. Malfoy, your gel-plasters are off and I know you are now feeling much better, but we don't want to overdo the thing, do we?" Adeptly, Pomfrey grabbed Draco by his ear and gave it a vicious twist. When Draco opened his mouth to holler, Pomfrey quickly poured a dose of sleeping potion down his throat and slapped his back. Draco choked, swallowing the potion.

"There now Mr. Malfoy! That is a much weaker sleeping potion than I've given you before. It is weak enough that you will be able to dream, and won't that be lovely? Here, what is that? Why is your nipple inflamed? Let me have a look. Are those teeth marks? Has someone bitten you?" Pomfrey had her suspicions who the 'someone' might be.

Draco glowered angrily at Pomfrey and began a vigorous scratching campaign on his rear end under his covers. "You leave my nipp... my pink bit alone! Get your hands off of me! When my Father hears about..."

Pomfrey pulled a small vial from her pocket and after wresting Draco's hand away from his chest, she smeared some salve on Draco's 'pink bit'. Satisfied with the condition of her itchy charge, Pomfrey patted Draco on his blonde head because she knew how doing so infuriated him. "Have a pleasant night's rest Mr. Malfoy," said Pomfrey and she marched away.

"Have a pleasant night's rest Mr. Malfoy," parroted Draco under his breath. "Tonight? I don't think so Madame P!"

The minute Madame Pomfrey left the infirmary; Draco hopped out of bed and did his utmost to retch up the unwanted sleeping potion into a bedpan. His efforts met with little success. Frantic, he wrapped his naked body in a sheet, and already feeling drowsiness washing over him, he began to pace the floor.

No sleeping tonight! I have to make it to the hideaway, to my Petals! To the most astounding, stupefying, bone rattling, orgasmic boink that this sorry school has ever been privy too!

Alas. Only a little over an hour later, house elves made their rounds to tidy up the infirmary. The startled elves found Draco wrapped in his sheet and lying on the floor snoozing under a window. After cleaning up the sizable puddle of drool under his head, they levitated him back into his bed and covering him up. They wondered what the boy could be dreaming to give him such a wicked smile.

Draco lay next to Hermione, arm in arm on a golden beach, the waves lapping at their toes. The tropical sun shown down on them. The naked pair wore only huge grins and self-satisfied smirks. They each puffed away on a large celebratory cigar.

As Hermione blew a smoke ring, she slathered thick white lotion on Draco's pale skin. "Draco dear, that was the best sex any female on the planet ever had the luck and good fortune to experience."

"Thank you Petals," answered Draco. "You were so-so. If I were you, I'd work on my 'shimmy'. Rather sluggish."

"Yes, I'll work on that, and thank you Draco dear. Imagine, I was so-so! Thank you, I don't deserve your praise. I sorry I kept fainting. You magnificence was at times, too much for me to bear."

"I know." Draco blew a queue of smoke rings into the air. "Let's have another go. I'll be easier on you this time my sweet. I'll only insert the first seven or eight inches of my long, thick, stupendous..."

A bolt of lightning shot across the sky. "DRACO!" a disembodied voice boomed through the air, powerful as a clap of thunder. Hermione and Draco dropped their cigars.

"Father?" whined Draco, his voice shaking. He sat bolt upright, a frightened expression on his face. "What Father?"

Hermione disappeared from Draco's side. The tropical sun disappeared rapidly, obscured by thick black clouds that blew in from the ocean. Shivering, Draco hugged himself.

"Father?"

"Come here this instant boy!" called a voice from the sky. "Naughty! Haven't I told you, over and over again, no sex? Bad Draco. Bad, bad boy!"

"But Father! All the other young wizards have sex! Why can't I?" Draco howled.

"And if all the other young wizards jumped off of the Astronomy tower, would you jump too? Come home this instant! Come home right this instant boy! Come right home!"

"But Father... Father! I don't want..."

The swirling sandy vortex rose up around Draco and when the sands settled, Draco found himself standing in a Malfoy Mansion drawing room. He was now garbed in proper robes. Draco looked over to his father, seated in a large sofa chair in front of the fireplace. Draco stood admiring an old painting over the mantelpiece. The painting showed a purple volcano set on a tropical island. Black smoke billowed from the volcano and red-hot lava flowed from the opening of the volcanic crater. Draco fanned the smoke that floated down on him from the volcano. He stepped back so the lava flow would not touch his feet.

"Draco," asked Lucius of his son. "Do you want to sit here on my lap?"

Without turning around, Draco laughed and said, "isn't that right queer father?" Draco turned to his father. His laugh continued momentarily, then his eyes opened wide and he sputtered, "Oh, I'm sorry Father! I didn't mean anything, I mean I'm not saying you're queer or anything."

Draco's face showed his extreme surprise as his father smiled, grabbed his arm, and pulled his son onto his lap.

"I'm your Father Draco. When you were a wee baby I sat here holding you for hours while you slept. You had large bluish-grey eyes and a head full of white hair. You looked like an albino bunny rabbit."

"So I've been told Father." At first stiff with apprehension, Draco began to relax. "You never told me anything like that before. We're having 'quality time', aren't we Father?" Draco smiled broadly and daring to follow an impulse, he laid his head back to rest on his father's shoulder.

"Draco, may I offer you something to drink?"

"Like what," Draco said eagerly. "Do you mean spirits? I always wanted to try a pint of Gremlin's Pout with a twist."

"Do not push your luck boy," said Lucius.

Draco smiled broadly. He leaned, confidently against his father's broad chest and shut his eyes. "Father. I would fancy a mug of hot white cocoa, all stirred up."

"What? What do you mean all stirred up?" asked Lucius. "You are a funny boy Draco. Here, hold your hands out." Lucius tapped his wand on Draco's outstretched hands. A mug appeared, large, gold and shaped like a basilisk coiled around a rock, the beast's curled tail forming a handle. The mug was warm in Draco's hands and steam rose in soft green curls that resembled rampant dragons.

Draco smiled at his father's ease and grace with a wand. "Thank you father." Carefully Draco blew on the creamy white, hot liquid and hazarded a sip. "Father, it's delicious, the best anything I've ever tasted. Wonderful..." Draco ran his tongue inside the cup. He smiled when his father didn't box his ears for displaying base behavior. Draco gave a large wide yawn.

"I'm glad you are enjoying your hot cocoa. My boy.

Lord Voldemort realizes the lightning strike that destroyed the power stored within you, and released the virginity protection spell from you so unexpectedly. An accident. Although the damage done was not your doing, our master requires the Malfoy clan to pay for the damage done to his plans."

"Yes, Father," said Draco yawning so broadly his body shook with it. "I'm sorry I keep yawning. I'm just suddenly so sleepy father."

"You will never, for the remainder of your short life, be sleepier than you are right at this moment. Imagine that Goldie."

His eyes shut, Draco smiled. "Father, you called me 'Goldie'. I love when you call me Goldie. Why do you always call me Goldie? My hair isn't really very gold, is it? It's more white."

"I call you Goldie because are my Galleons Draco." Lucius stoked Draco's cheek. "A man's son is his treasure, and you are the Galleons I must cash in to save our clan, the Malfoy clan, our family."

With half closed eyes, Draco stared into his father's face. "Father, what do you mean...?"

Draco's hand relaxed against the pull of the empty pewter mug that now felt as heavy as a brick. The mug hit the floor. It bounced, driblets of hot white cocoa forming a dark stain on the rare Persian carpet. The stain took on the appearance of a curled serpent writhing from the mouth of a skull. Draco lay limp upon his father's chest.

Lucius Malfoy took the hand of his limp son and raised it. When he opened his hand again, he noted with chagrin, that his boy's pale soft hand fell lifeless. Shifting his seat, Lucius reached for a goblet of brandy from a table by the comfy chair. He drained the goblet in one gulp and angrily threw the empty glass into the pooling red-hot lava by the fireplace. The goblet glowed red hot and burst into flames.

"If there were only another way I might have satisfied my Lord Voldemort. He is the hardest of taskmasters. He always demands his 'pound of flesh'. If there had been some other way." Lucius stroked the white-blonde hair on his son's head.

Draco floated above the tender and tragic scene. He watched himself, dead in his father's lap on the big comfy chair, in front the fireplace, under the painting of the now dormant volcano. Draco watched with great interest. He chuckled.

"That is so funny! If I had to make a guess, I'd have thought Father would have taken his Platinum Snake-head cane and beat me to death with it. I never would have guessed he'd kill me so gently. Just as well Auggie MacIntyre wasn't around taking bets, because I'd have bet good Galleons that Father would have clubbed me to death. Never even imagined he'd kill me so gently, so patiently, with poison. I suppose Father really, really loves me. Always knew he loved me. Loved me more than any one else in the world, more than anything else in the world except for power."

"NO!" yelped Draco, sitting up. He woke in a pool of perspiration, embarrassing tears running down his cheeks after the terrifying dream of murder at his father's hands. Even though he was alone, Draco felt humiliated and he frantically wiped at his eyes.

That's NOT fair! I am finally rid of those stupid death eater sacrifice dreams and now I'm dreaming of Father committing Draco-icide? NOT FAIR! And what does it all mean? Father wouldn't harm a hair on my head. He's going to slit my neck open when he finds out I gave those Starshotz 6000s away, but Father wouldn't touch my hair.

Sitting up, Draco rubbed his damp palms against the bed covers and placed a shaking hand over his pounding heart. He distracted himself from the disturbing dream as he always distracted himself, with thoughts of Hermione.

My heart is thumping. I'm sweatier than some sweaty something or the other. Yes, this is how I'm going to feel after having a proper manly 'go' with Petals.

"PETALS!"

In an instant all thoughts about the horrific nightmare were forgotten. Had he slept through and missed his big date? A wizard clock on a nearby table was still slowly moving toward an oval disc marked 'the witching hour'. With a shout of relief he hadn't missed the big event, Draco leapt out of bed and sprinted for the doorway. Only two feet from his goal Draco skidded to a halt, his bare feet squeaking loud against the clean marble floor.

"CRIKEY!" He squealed out loud and looked down. He was starkers.

"We can't go to Petals looking like I've been wanking all evening!" Draco shouted at his happy goolies. "I have to get dressed! I have to cover you up! STOP WAGGING YOUR TAIL," he yelped at his Fireball tattoo.

Turning around, Draco sprinted to the infirmary bathroom where he quickly showered. Pleased with himself, and unfortunately, still sweating like an overworked hippogriff, he returned to his bed. Partly to convince himself his magic was intact, he pulled his wand from the bedside table drawer and levitated his clothing from the wardrobe at the end of the long aisle. With shaking hands, he pulled on a clean vest and jumper and held up his formerly beloved, thirteen-button muggle navy wool trousers.

"HA," he shouted happily as he pulled on and buttoned up his trousers.

I won't ever wear these witch-proof thirteen button trousers again after tonight. I'll wear a thong. That's it, just a thong that Petals can tear off of me with her teeth.

Flinging his cloak back from his shoulders, Draco was dressed. He walked to a mirror on the side of a wardrobe for a final check. Soberly he stared at himself as though entirely unsure of what he saw - a boy with brushed, pale silvery blonde hair, grey-eyes, sparkling white teeth and the randy, overanxious look of a tied up stud farm stallion.

Draco stared at his clothing. He anxiously analyzed his every feature and wondering if his appearance would please his girl.

"I'm sorry young man, but you're not going to improve for staring at yourself," said the mirror apologetically. "You're already too handsome as it is."

"Man? Young man you say? Why thank you!" said Draco gratefully. Feeling more grown up than he ever had before in his life, Draco turned and walked rapidly out of the infirmary.

So much of Draco's time over the previous fortnight was spent lying flat on his back that the walk made him a little giddy. But there was much evidence that the boy's dizzy feeling may have stemmed from his fabulous thoughts on what erotic pleasures awaited him and his Petals in only a few short minutes.

For the first time in Draco's life he felt he was in complete control of his own body and at long last he could do with himself whatever he wished. And he knew exactly and precisely what, with whom, and how many times he wanted to do 'it'. And more than that, he had an excellent idea of just how loud he was going to scream when he had done so - the greenhouse hideaway's glass was in grave danger.

My last hour as a virgin.

Half walking, half trotting, on the way to the front hall of the castle, it occurred to Draco that for the first time in his life, he was in serious need of a talk; a wizard-to-wizard talk. He was overcome with a feeling of missing his father at this most auspicious time.

Draco wondered if his father knew anything about sex. Not the A goes into B sort of stuff, but the really, really, important stuff. Good stuff, like when the moment came, how best could Draco make Hermione so orgasmic that she would scream out in ancient Mermish? And there was other stuff. What if Hermione showed up at Malfoy Manor in nine-months with a tiny grey-eyed, blonde, bushy-haired infant, sort of stuff. Was it true that witches always managed the complexities of birth control? What if Petals, who was perpetually in heat, was too full of hormones to have given contraceptive magic a thought? Should they postpone 'the event' until they'd made a study of the contraceptive magics, or just trust to destiny? And more importantly, were wizards who trusted to destiny called 'Lucky' or 'Daddy'?

Shaking his head to clear the barrage of bewildering thoughts, Draco decided to exit the castle and head for the greenhouse hideaway through a back way near Slytherin Commons. Draco didn't want the night's escapade fouled by some late strolling professor seeing him leave by the front foyer. As he marched along, Draco became uncomfortably aware of the feel of cloth rubbing his personal bits. His trousers felt as though they'd shrunk a bit, particularly around the crotch. Could he make it to the hideaway without disgracing himself like some rank amateur? And if he did... suffer an embarrassment... would Petals mind much?

Come on boys! This is 'F-day', just as Daddy always promised you. Damn it Fireball - STOP wagging your tail!

Draco raced down the stairs that led to Slytherin Commons. He turned right at the commons entrance and headed for the stairs leading to the rear castle exits. As he whipped around a corner he nearly walked into a dark hovering apparition, the image of his father, standing in the doorway staring down at him. The image held a silver headed cane, but other than that detail, the form was identical to the boggart from the Friday afternoon of the Slytherin Hufflepuff match.

"Damn it!" Draco shouted in irritation. "I don't need this now!" With no flourishes, Draco pulled his wand, swirled and flicked it at the obstruction. "RIDDIKULUS!"

The crack of the spell echoed up and down the corridor. When the smoke cleared, the imagine of Lucius Malfoy stood - still a striking figure - only now clad in a shiny jet-black leather bustier with matching garter belt of black lace that held up a fetching pair of black fishnet tights.

Taken up by a fit of giggling, Draco eyed the tall figure that wore a fire engine red thong that bulged impressively at the crotch. Despite the lush quantities of blonde hair sticking out of the fishnets for want of shaving, the shapely muscular legs of Lucius seemed almost made for tights. The face of Lucius looked shocked above the saucy red velvet bow that decorated the thick bull neck of the striking figure.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Draco was doubled up with laugher. "What a cracking great strumpet you make Father! Listen, so happens that just tonight I could use little practice at the old rumpy-pumpy, one-two!" Draco thrust his hips forward suggestively and waggled them. "Ha, ha, ha, ha! Why don't you turn around and bend over Father, so I can thrust my stupendously long, thick, pendulous..."

"Draco, for the sake of your life, I rather hope you have an excellent explanation for... for this!" In spite of the ludicrous streetwalker's outfit, Lucius Malfoy did not, in any way, shape or form, seem amused. Glaring at his son, Lucius used his serpent-head cane, which he still held, to flick an annoying fat blonde sausage curl out of his narrowed, angry eyes.

A chill coursed through Draco's body as though a ghost had just passed through him. Too frightened to even scream, Draco staggered backwards and only his strong will kept him from fainting dead away. In absolute horror he absorbed the horrific reality, that the ludicrous figure before him was no lurking boggart. The dark and awesome visage in the doorway was in fact, his father, Lucius Malfoy, in the flesh; quite a lot of flesh actually.

Even as Lucius Malfoy pulled at his red thong wedgie, he was an awe-inspiring sight as he advanced on his son. Lucius was admittedly somewhat hindered by his inability to balance on eight-inch, open-toed, scarlet stiletto heels. With one powerful hand, Lucius reached out and picked up Draco by the front of his cloak. He held his quivering, terrified son at eye level; Draco's feet dangled in the air.

"Draco," Lucius growled through gritted teeth. "Is there a reason you have turned your father into a caricature of a Knockturn Alley witch-of-the-evening?" Lucius' unblinking grey eyes sported six inches of false, Bambi-like eyelashes, and yet, he remained a terrifying sight. "I'm waiting for an answer boy."

"Father... I, uh," Draco felt a terror he couldn't begin to reason with. Nightmares and daydreams aside, Draco still could not comprehend why his own father should frighten him so. Here stood his closest relative and his personal lifelong supporter. Save for the little matter of having turned his father into an artifact left over from Friday night at a muggle Rocky Horror Picture Show cinema revival, what was there for Draco to be scared of?

"Father," choked Draco, barely able to speak for the pressure of being held up by the neck of his cloak. "How well you look." He had not chosen a good opening sentence. Draco's second attempt was no better. "I mean, Father, you look so, so healthy. I mean..."

"Draco, I asked you a question." Lucius shook Draco who whimpered. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It was an accident Father! I mean, you see, only a fortnight ago, before the big Quidditch match, there was a boggart near here, near Slytherin Commons. I backed the boggart down. I did good! I did just what you taught me. 'Pull your wand quickly if there is danger! Act quickly! ' I swear to you that's the truth Father! Please put me down, I can fix you back! I'm sure I can!"

Lucius opened his hand and Draco, landed in quivering heap at his father's red shellacked toenails.

Suddenly too tired to rise to his feet, remained prone. He pulled his wand and held it up, tightly gripped in his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut and pleaded to the ghostly spirit of Salazar Slytherin, whom Draco desperately hoped had a soft spot for young and foolish Slytherin boys. He hollered the one spell he could think of that might work. "FINITE INCANTATUM!"

A loud cracking noise again echoed up and down the corridor. Only when the loud noise ceased reverberating down the corridor did Draco hesitantly open one eye for a peek. There stood his father, once again dignified, from his handsome charcoal, silver clasped robes down to his illegal, black, centaur-hide boots. Lucius clutched his serpent head cane. Draco said a silent prayer his father wouldn't notice the unchanged condition of the six-inch Bambi eyelashes.

In spite of fear, or perhaps because of it, Draco looked hopefully up into his father's eyes, seeking forgiveness, perhaps even praise for a fancy bit of wand work correctly performed. Perhaps he hoped, he might even receive the boon of a paternal pat on the head; any sign would suffice to help Draco reconnect himself with the terrifying imagine straight out of his nightmares - his father.

Slowly, with some stumbling, Draco rose to his feet. In the presence of his statuesque father, Draco seemed to have shrunk inches and lost years. Draco's skin looked sallow now and seemed more like a child of ten years, timid and unsure of himself; highly unlike the Draco Malfoy anyone at Hogwarts was familiar with.

"I must say, Draco, I'm surprised this school provided you with such trifling knowledge of defense against the Dark Arts. Pity. I would have much preferred you to attend Durmstrang, but then, keeping you from becoming overly familiar with dark magic had its purpose to keep you too ignorant to tamper with the spells placed upon you."

Lucius stared appraisingly at his son. "So. Perhaps there was a boggart. Hogwarts has its share of the pests. I suppose I will overlook this little... incident. I've come to take you home. The holidays are almost upon us and I told Dumbledore you may continue your recovery from the little rain storm in the comfort of Malfoy Manor." The dismissive look in Lucius' eyes showed how little he thought of rainstorms and of Dumbledore.

"I almost died Father," said Draco. "I hoped you would visit me in the infirmary."

"You are a Malfoy, and my son," said Lucius. His voice held a tinge of defensiveness. "There was no need for concern. Never a doubt but that you would fully recover. It takes more than a small rainstorm to kill a Malfoy. Come along Draco."

"Home?" Draco said as though the word was spoken in some foreign tongue. He smiled with worried eyes. "Father, I don't want... I can't go home. I was going to send my Eagle Owl to you tomorrow for permission to stay here. I need to stay here over Christmas. Not that I don't want to spend the holidays with you and mother but I'm studying for my O.W.L.s over the break. I have a study partner, my girlfriend and she is depending on me to... to study with. We promised each other we would stay at school over the holidays and, uh, work together."

"Funny, I don't recall," Lucius stared down at his trembling son. "I don't recall giving you leave to discuss the matter further. I wonder that Dumbledore encourages such rudeness to one's own father. Draco..." Lucius snapped. "I think it might be a good idea for you to show me that you have upheld your family responsibilities. I want proof that the power stores and virginity protection spell, are all in place." In preparation of Draco blowing his flaming marks, Lucius took several steps backwards. "Now. Show your marks to me Draco. Show them to me now."

Again Draco's face blanched. He looked like a white china doll. He reeled slightly and spoke. "If you want me to go with you now father, I'll get my things. We can do this later." He turned, but before he could take a step, his father's serpent-head cane whipped out and hooked Draco at the neck.

"Draco," Lucius repeated edgily. "Has a stay in the hospital rendered you deaf? I want to see your marks, right now. I wish to hear the crackle of the Lord Voldemort's power stored within you. I wish to see the flames that protect your... purity."

Draco knew there was no arguing with his father's authority, but there was also no choice in the matter; there were no longer any marks to display.

"No Father," Draco flipped the cane from his neck and backed up slowly as he spoke, still staring into his father's eyes. His face stung in anticipation of a smack. "Father, I respect you. But I'll show you nothing. I'm not a little boy anymore. I'm nearly grown now and I don't want to go, Father I'm staying here."

There was nothing left to lose; nothing at all.

"Father, I have a present... a special present for my girlfriend Father. I can't disappoint her." Draco's voice cracked and he dropped his head in shame and wondered what his father must think of him now.

But the eyes of Lucius widened, his pupils dilated.

Draco peered up in wonder at the sight of his father's eyes. Of all things, was his father thinking of his feckin' postal eagles, now?

"You are standing up to me? You tell your father 'no'?" Lucius' pale lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners. He sounded amused. "Draco, why do you look frightened?" Lucius' voice was suddenly soft, silken, as though he worked to convince a particularly stubborn eagle to give up its post. "Really Draco," Lucius purred. "There is no need to be frightened. You know you are always safe with me? I'll always protect you. No one loves you more than I do. I love you more than any other person on earth."

Draco stood numb.

No. That isn't good enough Father. Say you love me more than you love power.

"Come along son," Lucius said with a weary smile. "I'll pen you in on my schedule for a 'fuss and a fight' later tonight. I've had long day and want to go home." Lucius offered his black kid leather-gloved hand to Draco. "Come son. We are going now."

"No!" screamed Draco, backing up, and sounding close to hysteria. "No, no, not now! This is not fair! Not when I'm so close!"

"I said, come along." Lucius wagged his gloved hand as if coaxing one of his postal eagles to perch on his fist. "Come boy. No need to fret. Do you know what? I believe I'll let you open a few of your Christmas presents tonight. Perhaps Father Christmas brought you the butter soft leather trousers you have pestered your mother for. You thought I didn't know about that? Perhaps we'll sit together in front the fireplace and have a little talk on pleasant matters. Dumbledore told me you worked wonders with the Quidditch team this year. Apparently you have some talents. However largely un-useful those talents may be." Lucius again wagged his gloved fingers at Draco.

Draco was mortified. He eyes watered and he felt he was about to lose control. He took two steps forward and clasped his father's hand. Draco felt three years old again, more helpless then when Pomfrey had spoon-fed him in the infirmary. Quietly, obediently, Draco took his father's hand, and walked alongside him, down the stone steps, deeper into the silence and chill of the dungeons. There was a back way out of the castle known exclusively to Slytherin. Draco thought walking down into the cold depths of the castle was like marching into his father's heart.

"You're a good boy Draco, but you are stubborn. But then, you are young and at your age a little rebellion is to be expected."

His father's handgrip was firm and warm. Draco looked at his father's hand and wondered if some day his own hand would be so large, so firm, so muscular.

I ought to feel safe.

On impulse, Draco lifted his father's gloved hand to his cheek. He nervously looked up to see his father's response, but his father walked briskly along, ignoring Draco's actions.

I'm one of Father's eagles he is taking back to the mews.

Impulsively, Draco wrenched his hand from his father's and quickly backed a few steps up the stairwell. His father turned to face him with a startled look. Lucius frowned.

"Father, please, I must get word to my girlfriend. I must get word to her before we leave. If you wait I'll be back inside an hour. I'll give you the password and you can wait in comfort in Slytherin Commons. Please Father?"

Lucius paused at the bottom of a long stretch of stairs. "Your girlfriend again? Who is this girl for whom you risk my anger?"

"Uh... Bulstrode. Millicent Bulstrode. I like my girls... big. Sort of lumpy actually."

"A Bulstrode?" Lucius looked puzzled. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed a Bulstrode would be the sort you would be so enamored with, but you must have your reasons." A smile crept across Lucius' face. "I must say, with a Bulstrode you have your hands full boy! Your hands full!" Lucius stood laughing.

"So can I go father? Please? Get my things. Say goodbye to my dorm mates."

"No," Lucius' laughing ceased abruptly. "Haven't I told you that we are leaving, now? Time is short. I'll buy whatever you need by owl post Draco. An entire new wardrobe. My temper is at its end, our coach is waiting and I'll hear nothing more from you." Lucius turned and marched off without a backward look.

Draco stood on the cusp. He pressed both hands against his eyes and breathed deeply for a few seconds, recalling the long bushy strands of chestnut hair, tickling his nose, the persistence of the orange blossom scent. "Yes, Father," he called out. "I'm right behind you!" He trotted down the stairs and headed in his father's footsteps.