Harry Potter and the Boy of Two Houses

Chapter 11

Just Friends

Hermione stood near the fire in the Gryffindor common room, her body pressed against the nearest window, and her breath making little white patches on the glass. Her mind raced furiously as she tried to figure out the best way to get Harry and Ron outside and onto the Quidditch pitch.

"What'cha looking at, Hermione?" Ron asked through a mouthful of chocolate, glancing over from his game of Wizards' Chess and giving her the perfect opportunity to start her manipulating.

Hermione paused in answering, feigning reluctance in divulging her thoughts. "It's just- I never really learned how to fly well, did I?"

She saw Harry and Ron exchange a curious glance. Why was it that males always had to look to each for support at the least little out-of-the-ordinary question? she wondered briefly before remembering she was supposed to be looking nervous.

"You never seemed to like it," Harry said cautiously.

Even Hermione had to smile at the understatement of his words. She had loathed flying the first time she'd tried it. Not only had it given her a severe stomachache and made her dizzy, it was also the one class she wasn't good at and had failed to improve in. Flying was, after all, not an art one could learn through a book, not that Hermione hadn't tried, of course. She had spent hours combing through numerous books on flying, including even, Quidditch Through The Ages. To her dismay, none of them had helped her whatsoever except make her more nervous after reading about all the dangerous tricks one could do on a broom, not to mention some of the horrible accidents that had occurred over the years because of them. Reading about all 700 possible Quidditch fouls had also been dreadfully boring, even to Hermione.

"It's not that I don't like it," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully. And it was true- she didn't dislike flying so strongly anymore, not after seeing the spectacular demonstration of skill at the World Cup; she just felt resentment for the fact that it was one skill she would never excel in.

"I just don't think I ever gave it enough of a chance," Hermione continued, ignoring the puzzled, skeptical looks on the boys' faces. "I was wondering if maybe you could give me some pointers."

"You mean teach you to how to fly?" Ron said incredulously.

Hermione stopped her eyes midway through their roll. "I know how to fly, of course! I took the lessons. I'm just not good at it."

"So- so you want us to help you improve," Harry said, his voice unsure. He seemed to have grasped the concept but was looking as if he wondered if he'd heard right.

She nodded. "Exactly."

Harry and Ron were silent and for a moment Hermione thought they were debating how to decline, but then they gave identical grins and pushed their chairs back, the chess pieces forgotten.

"We'd love to, Hermione," Harry said at once. "I'll go get my Firebolt."

"Imagine," Ron began, grinning as he picked up Sprink from the table. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be asking for our help in a class." Hermione bit back a sharp retort, slightly mollified when Harry nudged Ron, who reddened slightly at seeing her annoyance.

She waited in the common room, straying back to the window every few seconds to make sure he was still on the pitch, while Harry and Ron retrieved their broomsticks from the boys' dorm. Hermione smiled as they came clattering back down the stairs, jumping quickly away from the window. She followed them out through the portrait hole and the trio proceeded back to the first floor.

They made their way quickly to the Quidditch pitch, Harry and Ron talking ceaselessly about flying tricks and their brooms. Hermione was sorely tempted to ask whether they were planning on taking jobs as broomstick salesmen after they graduated Hogwarts, but bit back the comment.

"Who's that?" Ron asked immediately, as soon as the small figure zooming around the Quidditch field came into view.

Hermione feigned ignorance and shrugged.

Harry put a hand over his eyes to block the sun and squinted. "Dunno." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. As long as it's not team practice there's enough room for all of us." He led the way to the stands where he and Ron set their broomsticks down.

"Do you want to give my Firebolt a go?" Harry asked.

Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't really intended to fly. "Er- I think that's a bit too . . ."

"Fast?" Harry said kindly.

Hermione nodded in relief. If she had to fly there was no way in the world she would be doing it on the fastest broom invented. "Could I try your Cleansweep, Ron? I know it's a bit slower . . ." She waited for a moment, but Ron was still staring at the flyer.

"Ron?" she asked loudly.

He started, and then stared at her, his face red. "Er, sure, Hermione." He turned quickly to Harry. "I think that's the annoying first year. You know-" He sent a furtive look at Hermione and lowered his voice. "The one who called Hermione a you-know-what."

Harry quickly rounded and stared up at the sky. His forehead creased, and he frowned. "Yeah, that's Conrad."

"Really," said Hermione, trying to sound surprised. "I wonder what he's doing our here."

"Flying, obviously," Ron snorted.

"Flying well to be more precise," added Harry, still frowning.

"He is a good flyer," Hermione said, nodding her head in approval.

"So?" said Ron, sounding highly disgruntled. "Who cares if he's a good flyer. He's a gi-."

"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted smoothly, seemingly nervous that it would spark a fight between Ron and Hermione. "Hermione can still fly. We'll just ignore him."

"But it won't be any fun now," Ron argued, sending Draco a dark look. "Not with him here." He turned to Hermione. "Do you mind if we give you some pointers tomorrow after class?"

Hermione paused; this was not going as planned. "Conrad's not that bad, Ron! You thought he was ok after he played with Sprink a few weeks ago . . . we'll just ignore him, like Harry said."

Ron sighed, looking down at the pixie in his hand as if it were somehow Sprink's fault. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Right," said Harry, twirling his broom's handle. "Now, Hermione-"

"Who's that?" a sharp voice from above called.

Simultaneously, all three turned. Draco, who had finally noticed their presence, was hovering five feet above them on one of the school brooms. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at seeing Hermione and she couldn't help but grin guiltily.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. He was glaring at Harry and Ron, but Hermione knew the question was directed at her.

"Flying," Ron said loudly, clearly annoyed that they'd been spotted. "It's not against the rules."

Draco shot his a contemptuous look. "Obviously. Or I wouldn't be doing it."

Hermione snorted into her hand. Luckily, Harry and Ron looked just as incredulous.

"Says the boy who's been skipping classes," Ron said in a loud whisper.

Draco sent furious glares at all three of them, but particularly Ron.

"Well, how long are you going to be out here?" he demanded, clearly eager for them to leave.

"As long as we want," Ron snarled. "You don't own the field."

"We're helping Hermione with her flying. We won't disturb you," Harry added with unnecessary vehemence.

Hermione couldn't stop a blush from creeping across her cheeks as Draco glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was glad to see that while he was mad, he also looked slightly amused by her lie. She was also slightly disheartened to know that even the Slytherins knew of her dislike of flying.

"Just keep flying, Conrad," Hermione urged him and then fell silent, hoping she hadn't just given away her plan. If she weren't discreet enough, Draco would figure out what she doing and leave. As it was, he looked suspicious again, and gave her a wary glance before wheeling away and accelerating towards the other end of the pitch.

"Git," Ron muttered, before turning away and looking at Hermione. He turned red as she looked at him reproachfully, and then cleared his throat, holding up his broomstick.

"Here, Harry, you hold Sprink- now, Hermione, just put your hand over the broom and say 'up' really firmly. You have to let it know who's in charge . . ."

Harry and Ron proceeded to help her awkwardly onto the broomstick, both of them turning extremely red when Hermione reminded them she was able to climb a broomstick without assistance, particularly from two teenage boys. She straddled the broom, feeling more than a little silly.

"Now kick gently off," Harry said, getting onto his Firebolt.

Hermione gritted her teeth and pushed against the mossy ground. The Cleansweep sprang into the air, and Hermione felt a short bout of panic as her stomach did a nauseous flip.

"Great, Hermione," Ron called from below. "Now try opening your eyes . . ."

Hermione did so and was very relieved to see Harry hovering right beside her in the air. She managed a weak smile, before accidentally looking at the ground.

"Don't lose control!" Ron shouted from below as his broom weaved slightly. "It's only ten feet!"

For the next quarter of an hour Harry and Ron took turns using the Firebolt and helping Hermione control the broom. By the end of the lesson she was still refusing to go more than fifteen feet in the air and had simply glared when Ron suggested she try a somersault. Not only was her stomach still queasy, Hermione's fingers were numb from clenching the broomstick handle so tightly, and she was bored out of her mind.

It was obvious that Harry and Ron weren't enthralled either. A few minutes before they had been engrossed in seeing who could fly to the nearest goal post the fastest on the Firebolt- they hadn't stopped until Hermione called and asked how she was supposed to turn the broom. Now, she was glad to see, they were both looking towards the other end of the pitch. Ron had a disgusted look on his face, which Hermione took as a clear sign that they were watching Draco.

Not wanting to distract them, Hermione pointed the brooms ever so slightly downwards and said under her breath, "go." She urged it inch by inch back to the ground, almost gagging as the broom gave a very abrupt halt two feet from the ground. Hermione, gasping in relief, sat back. The balance on the broom shifted and the handle swung upwards into the air. Hermione slid off the back and landed on the ground with a shriek. She blushed as Harry and Ron turned to her, startled.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, rushing to help her up. Ron chased after his Cleansweep, muttering reproaches at it as he brought it back, much to the amusement of his friends.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked in concern.

Hermione winced as Harry pulled her to her feet. She brushed grass off her robes and rubbed her lower back. "I'll be fine. But I don't like flying."

Ron looked disappointed. "Too bad. It was fun getting too teach you something for a change."

"What do you mean 'teaching me'?" Hermione demanded grouchily, annoyed not only by the fact that she'd fallen but also by the thought that she'd have numerous bruises the next day. "You were over there watching Conrad." She held her breath, waiting to see if they'd deny it.

Distaste immediately filled Ron's face. "The git's actually pretty good."

"He was feinting before," Harry added, sounding depressed about being impressed.

Hermione tried to look surprised. "You're not thinking of trying to get him on the Quidditch team, are you?"

Harry started and Ron laughed outright. Hermione, positive she'd rushed things, bit her lip nervously.

"That's ridiculous!" Ron burst out. "That prat on our team? He's not that good a flier-"

"Actually, he probably is, Ron," Harry said in a low voice, eyeing "Conrad" out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know what he can do with a Quaffle, but he's handling the broom like he's been riding for years."

Ron snorted. "You're not serious, Harry!" His tone lacked conviction, though, and he seemed to be asking rather than making an assumption. "Sure he's a good flier, but so was-" He searched for a name for a minute before his eyes lit up. "Malfoy was a good flier, and we'd never want him on our team!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ron, because any wise Gryffindors would put their least favorite Slytherin on their Quidditch team."

Ron looked grumpy. "It was the only example I could think of."

And a very, very ironic one, Hermione thought, exhaling slowly as her pulse returned to normal.

"It's not a big deal, Ron," Harry said in an appeasing tone. "He's in first year, and he's got a Slytherin's personality. Besides," he added firmly, "I doubt he's even thought of trying to play Quidditch, and I'm not about to go up and ask him to." Ron looked relieved, while Hermione scowled. Unfortunately, Harry saw.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"You're not about to start up with your "we have to be nice to younger students" spiel, are you?" Ron moaned.

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. "No. Not that you shouldn't give Conrad another chance, though." Harry and Ron didn't even try to hide the fact that they were rolling their eyes.

"Let's go back to the castle," Hermione suggested. "I think I've had enough flying for today."

On the way back to the castle, they passed Angelina striding towards the pitch with Madame Hooch and the chest of Quidditch balls.

"Hey, guys," she said, smiling brightly. She saw Hermione and her eyebrows lifted. "Were you flying?"

"Yes," Hermione replied ruefully.

Angelina gave a small laugh, and, to Hermione's embarrassment, even Madame Hooch chuckled. Was her reputation for her dislike of flying really that popular? she thought crossly.

Hermione stole a glance at Harry and Ron. "And we were watching a first year fly."

"Hermione thought we should try to get him on the Quidditch team," said Ron, sounding as if it were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Angelina nodded her head at the chest. "We're just checking up on the Quidditch balls. The Slytherin captain insists that the Bludgers aren't working right."

Harry's lips twitched, and Hermione didn't miss the gleam in his eye. "They want the Bludgers to aim for their team members?"

Angelina grinned and shrugged. "Who knows?" she said, lowering her voice so Madame Hooch wouldn't hear. "With Slytherins, they could just be trying to do each other in."

* * *

The first sign that something would be different about Potions was the sinister way Snape greeted the class. Actually it wasn't sinister at all; in fact, Snape had sounded downright pleasant, as if he knew of a secret treat the students didn't know about. Unfortunately, Harry was almost positive he knew what the "treat" was, and he doubted it would make any of the students happy. That was the sinister part. Harry, the ominous feeling in his stomach not dissipating, glanced at Hermione nervously as Snape began the lesson.

"Today," he said, showing his teeth in what was probably the closest to a smile he had ever come. "We will start Love Potions."

There weren't that many gasps, and Harry got the feeling that the other students had already guessed this as well. To his immense surprise, Hermione was looking the least nervous out of everyone. Though her smile was shaky, she looked confident.

"We're not trying them today," she whispered at Harry's questioning glance. "It takes a few days for even the simplest Love Potion to be made." She glanced at Snape to make sure he hadn't spotted them before continuing. "It's a very complicated process, just like the Polyjuice Potion."

Hermione's words did little to reassure Harry. Whether they took Love Potions now or in a week, it didn't make much of a difference to him. The result would be the same; sometime in the next month or so he would most likely be forced to fancy Hermione. Harry shuddered at the fight with Ron that would probably ensue and the discomfort he would probably feel with Hermione for months afterward. He felt a surge of hate rise as he glanced at Snape. The Potions Master, who was currently looking at the students with an indifferent, yet smug air, knew exactly what kind of damage the Love Potions could cause. Harry wondered yet again why Dumbledore was allowing this. Perhaps the Headmaster didn't know the full extent of Snape's plans. Harry felt a grim determination as class began and, inevitably, so did the making of their potions.

He worked silently next to Hermione throughout the class. By the end of the lesson Harry had nearly completed the precise, detailed instructions Snape had dictated and then inscribed on the board. He had just added one half of an Ashwinder egg; in order to make sure the Love Potion wasn't too strong, they wouldn't be adding the other half.

It turned out that the first potion they would be making (to the horror of most of the class, Snape had announced they would be making at least two in the course of the next two months) would be the most simplistic. Based on the first person the drinker made eye contact with immediately after taking the Love Potions, it would result in only a small crush. Hermione whispered to Harry that it had in fact been nicknamed the "Blushing Potion" because generally the recipients were at the embarrassing, stammering, and blushing stage of their "relationship".

"Nothing that might evoke unwanted romantic gestures," Snape had added unpleasantly, his lip curling.

Harry viciously stirred his potion, annoyed that for once that it was the proper color; red. As he brought a vial to Snape's desk and set his cauldron to simmer in the back room Harry half-hoped Snape would revert to his vindictive ways of the previous year and purposely smash it.

As he and Hermione left Potions that day, both tense and tight-lipped at the very thought of what was bound to happen during their next class, Harry couldn't help but sneak a glance at his best friend. Hermione was unquestionably pretty, her curly brown hair and matching twinkling eyes undeniably attractive. Harry just couldn't look at her in that way, though; he had never had any feelings for Hermione other than friendship and sisterly love and, albeit when he would have to take the Love Potion, he didn't think he ever would.

* * *

Hagrid's news at the following day's Care of Magical Creature class upset more than just the Slytherins.

"What do you mean we only have one more week with the pixies?" Lavender demanded, looking fondly at the light green pixie she and Parvati had dubbed "Pearl."

"You can't take them away," Pansy Parkinson said indignantly, though it appeared she and Millicent were the only Slytherins eager to keep their pixie longer.

Hermione seemed the most devastated of all. She hugged Aqua, glancing pleadingly at Hagrid and then nudging Harry and Ron to agree. The boys, after sighing, muttered incomprehensible sentiments under their breaths. Sprink, resting on Harry's shoulders, gave an angry squeak, as if he could sense that his caretakers weren't arguing on his behalf to the best of their abilities.

Hagrid scratched absent-mindedly at his beard, looking amazed at the students' reactions. "You've had them for over a month, now," he said doubtfully. "Aren't you getting tired of them."

There were several vehement negative exclamations, particularly from the girls.

"Oy!" Ron said loudly, straining to be heard. "You can have Sprink back, Hagrid." He yelped, cursing as Hermione elbowed him sharply in the arm.

Hagrid looked amused, but also unsure. "The chap who lent them to me- Dedalus Diggle- he'll be wanting them back soon."

There was a chorus of protests and a loud sigh from Ron.

"If you keep doing that," Hermione whispered under her breath angrily, "No girl here is ever going to date you."

That seemed to shut Ron up. After staring at Hermione in apprehension for a few seconds, as if she herself had threatened to turn every girl against him, he turned to Harry in bewilderment.

"They're just pixies!" he exclaimed, flabbergasted. He pointed an accusing finger at Sprink (who in return stuck his tongue out). "They just want to keep theirs because their pixies behave." Sprink made a noise deep in his throat that Harry could easily tell was a pixie version of a growl. Ron blinked at it, and the pixie, obviously aggravated, flew off to join Aqua in Hermione's hand. Hermione, not seeming to notice or care that she had a visitor, patted both pixies reassuringly.

"They're conspiring against us," Ron said in astonishment, as Sprink began whispering to Aqua.

"Don't be silly," Hermione scoffed. "Of course they're no-"

But at that moment Sprink and Aqua both darted out of her hand and back to Ron. One pixie on either side of his head, each grabbed one of his ears and pulled as hard as they could. Ron yelped in surprise and mild pain, batting in vain at the pixies next to his head.

"Ron- Ron, hold still, you could hurt them!" Hermione urged, her voice high as she obviously tried to hold back laughter. "I'll get them."

"I think they're hurting him more than the other way around," Harry said.

He laughed as the redhead stopped suddenly, his breathing shallow and his eyes darting back and forth from one attacker to the other.

"It's not funny," Ron said indignantly as Hermione gently pried Aqua away. Harry, not being half as gentle, took hold of Sprink's legs and yanked hard. The pixie flew away, both it and Ron giving loud shouts.

Ron turned bright red as the rest of the class turned to see what was going on. His ears didn't look any worse for the wear except for being red, although Harry didn't know if that was from embarrassment or the pixies' doing. Ron rubbed his ears vigorously, glaring at the pixies.

"I told you they were conspiring," he said mutinously, glaring at Harry and Hermione next.

"Just because Weasley can't handle his pixie doesn't mean we can't," Pansy whined from the Slytherin group. "Can't we keep them longer?"

"You do have them longer," Hagrid said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "One more week, and then the project's over."

Numerous disappointed murmurings could be heard. Hermione's face fell but she didn't say anything. Harry had the distinct feeling she was itching to argue but didn't want to make it worse for Hagrid. He looked upset enough as it was for letting down his students after they had obviously been enjoying his class for a few brief weeks. Hermione smiled bravely as Hagrid presented a cage of Billywigs for that day's lesson and gave Harry and Ron a sad glance.

Ron sighed again. "What is it with girls and this silly fascination?" he asked grumpily, glaring at Sprink reproachfully as his thoughts obviously strayed back to his ears. "It's got to be because Lockheart showed them to us," Ron muttered. "Silly, annoying, treacherous creatures . . ."

A moment later Ron was heard yelping again as he clutched his arm and cursed loudly at his pixie as it danced gleefully in the air.

It appeared Sprink had resorted to biting.

* * *

In Defense Against the Dark Arts the students had split into different groups depending on the level of their skills in different spells. Some were practicing the shield spell (Protego) under Harry's guidance; some were working on minor jinxes; a few members of the class, however, were still working on Patronus', Ron included.

"I still don't understand what it is!" he cried at the end of class, frustrated. His most recent Patronus had been what appeared to be a large horse, although Harry knew it could be anything from a large donkey to a zebra even.

"Try it again," Hermione urged, glancing sideways at Professor Evans, who was currently giving pointers on the Impedimenta jinx. Hermione, who was supposed to be working on a more difficult spell, having mastered Impedimenta, the Patronus, and most jinxes, had been working with Ron for the last few minutes. Harry, after hastily excusing himself, had joined them.

"It won't do any good," Ron grumbled, but he waved his wand and repeated the incantation anyway. This time a silver bird came flying out.

"See?" he demanded, exasperated. "It's always a bird or a horse! It's probably a dodo bird and that's why it won't form properly," he finished grumpily.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Say that again," she said breathlessly.

"It's probably a dodo-"

"No, not that," Hermione said impatiently, waving her hand. "Before."

"Oh. My Patronus is always a bird or horse," Ron explained. "It varies."

"What kind of bird?" Hermione asked excitedly. "Could it be an eagle?"

Ron was just about to answer when they heard Professor Evan's voice from behind them.

"Miss Granger, it sounds as if you are on the same track I am on," he mused. Harry and Ron jumped, but Hermione didn't let her surprise show.

"When you told me about your Patronus a few weeks ago," continued Professor Evans, turning to Ron. "I researched it and I believe I know what it is. If you could perform your Patronus one more time- I'm afraid I haven't been able to see it," he said apologetically.

Ron gave a very audible sigh and did as he was asked. Harry's eyes widened at the deformed creature that came out of Ron's wand. It had a large body with four legs- and one feathery wing.

There was a few seconds silence after the Patronus disappeared. Professor Evans looks delighted.

"Mr Weasley," he said, beaming. "I do believe I was right!"

"Well, that's nice," Ron said impatiently. "Do you mind telling me what it is?" He instantly turned red, as if expecting a reprove, but none came.

"I believe," said Professor Evans slowly. "That your Patronus is a hippogriff."

Harry and Ron stared, and Hermione beamed widely.

"I was right!" she exclaimed.

"Excellent, Miss Granger," said Professor Evans happily.

"A hippogriff?" repeated Ron in disbelief. "But- my Patronus is always a bird or a hor-" His eyes widened. "An eagle!" he corrected himself excitedly. "The two animals that combine to form a hippogriff!"

"Exactly." Professor Evans walked around the perimeter of their working space. "You're Patronus is a bit harder that others, Ron, since it is a magical creature. Your last attempt proved that the two are starting to form; it won't be long before your Patronus is a complete hippogriff and up to full strength."

Ron beamed and held up his wand to continue practicing.

At the end of class everyone was to hand in their homework from the previous lesson and Harry, who was feeling a bit more tired than usual, was last in line. As he placed his essay on the pile, he couldn't help but notice a framed photograph on Professor Evans' desk.

It was in a simple brown frame with no glass. The photo was of a smiling, red haired girl about six or seven, with green sparkling eyes and a few freckles. She was missing one of her front teeth and was proudly displaying it to the camera. The funny thing was, the picture, unlike most wizard ones, wasn't moving. The girl stayed absolutely still in her frame. As if in a trance, he extended a hand to touch the worn photo's surface-

"Harry, did you want to speak with me about something?" Professor Evans asked from behind him.

Harry jumped guiltily, swiftly bringing his hand back.

"No, sir," he stuttered. "I was just admiring your- inkwell," he finished lamely, glancing at the ornate black inkwell that stood balanced on three legs on the desk. For some reason, he didn't want to admit he'd been staring at the photo; even he didn't know why it was so alluring. After all, it was of a little girl he'd never even seen before.

Professor Evans surveyed him silently; there was no suspicion or admonishment in his face, but Harry knew for certain that he hadn't fooled the older man at all.

"Good-bye, professor," he muttered, and turned to leave. He glanced back once as he left the room to go meet Ron and Hermione outside; Professor Evans was holding the frame in his hand, staring at the girl.

Where would Professor Evans have gotten a muggle photograph?" Harry found himself wondering as he passed the threshold. And why did the little girl seem so strangely familiar?

* * *

"You what?" Ron practically shouted.

He wasn't the only one who looked stunned.

Angelina rolled her eyes and sighed. "Ron, it's no big deal. So I suggested it to him- he hasn't agreed yet."

"Yet?" demanded Ron, outraged. "Yet? You think he's going to? Harry, tell her how crazy this is!"

Even Harry couldn't stop from staring wide-eyed at Angelina. "You asked Conrad Johnson if he wanted to be on Gryffindor's Quidditch team?" he repeated, hoping he'd heard wrong.

Angelina gave him a bizarre look and then nodded very slowly, as if she were speaking to a toddler. "Yes, I did. What's the matter with it?"

"Well-" Harry struggled for words that could convey how he thought about Conrad, that he was bad news. "I'm the captain for one!"

"Yes, I know," Angelina said impatiently, though she looked the slightest bit guilty. "But I was thinking about what Ron had said, about how Hermione had asked if you were thinking of putting him on the Quidditch team."

"We weren't!" Ron yelled, his face bright red. "It was completely hypothetical! It was supposed to be a joke!"

"And I was watching him, and he is a really good flier. So, I asked him if he would consider it. Don't be so upset," she added hastily. "We're not even sure we want a third Chaser, right?"

Katie snorted. "Funny, you seemed to want Clark pretty badly last time we had this discussion."

Angelina glared at her. "It doesn't even matter, because Conrad said he didn't think it would be a good idea. Even though I told him he was a very good flier and with a bit of work with the Quaffle he'd be an excellent Chaser." She looked miffed. "He said he didn't think it was the right position for him, and wasn't keen on playing anyway."

Harry was furious. "Angelina, it wasn't your choice, though, to even ask him in the first place! I'm the captain!"

"Only because I kept on telling McGonagall that you'd be a good one," fumed Angelina. "And I thought I was the co-captain! I get to help make the decisions, too."

"But we didn't even talk about this," Harry practically growled. "You seem to keep on forgetting you're not the captain anymore!"

From the silence, he could tell he'd hit a nerve and opened his mouth to apologize. Katie glanced at Angelina nervously and then waved for him to be quiet.

Lately Angelina seemed to want everything in their Quidditch practices done their way. She chose what drills they started with, suggested improvements, and set most of the schedule. What was worse, Harry couldn't seem to make himself mad at her for it. In fact, the indignant, annoyed look on her face was sort of cute.

Stop it, Harry ordered himself. Stop thinking thoughts like that!

"I'm sorry," Angelina said finally, her tone steely. "But he really is a good flier, and none of you seem to like Clark." She crossed her arms, sulking almost petulantly. "And we do need another Chaser," she said grumpily.

"Sorry," said Harry shortly, not knowing what else to say. He hated hurting his friends' feelings, but for some odd reason, upsetting Angelina made him feel more awful than usual. She wasn't even looking at him.

"Look," he said, trying to make amends. "You're right; he was a good flier, right, Ron?"

Ron started to protest, but Harry cut him off.

"What if all the members of our team get together one night this week and watch him fly. Ginny and Katie can test him out with the Quaffle, and then we'll make a team decision as to whether or not to let him play." We also need to get McGonagall's permission," he added. "Since he's in first year."

"I already did," said Angelina brightly, looking much happier. "She wasn't thrilled since there were a whole lot of try-outs from the older students, but she said if he's really good we could make an exception." From her suddenly sly expression, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he'd just been tricked somehow.

"Is that ok with you?" Harry asked, turning to the other two Chasers.

"Yeah," Katie assured him.

Ginny was less quick to reply. "Sure," she said eventually, her expression a less thunderous mirror of Ron's. Harry frowned; Ginny had been more and more moody these days.

"Then, that's settled," Harry said loudly. "Angelina can arrange a meeting with Conrad later this week, and we'll see how he flies . . ."

* * *

The team had been unusually quiet while they watched Conrad fly later that week. Angelina had done most of the talking while Harry watched on in silence, adding something occasionally. Ron hadn't uttered a word the whole hour. He had sat sullenly on the bench with his arms crossed, refusing to acknowledge Conrad's presence. Katie had been friendly enough, but Ginny, too, was acting unusually hostile. The two girls had been doing tricks with the Quaffle for the last half hour, and Ginny seemed to be showing off as much as possible. When Conrad had joined in, she had thrown a few exceptionally hard passes, only half of which he caught.

While he was slow at first, there was a definite increase in his skill; by the end of the hour he was zooming around the field with the Quaffle tucked easily under his arm. He had no qualms about taking both hands off the broom to throw and catch the ball, nor did Katie and Ginny, posing as advancing members of an opposite team, make him nervous. He simply wheeled away and dove under them. When Harry had finally convinced Ron to get up and take his Keeper position, Conrad had managed to make two goals. Ron was also playing viciously hard, wacking the Quaffle with his broom as hard as he could; it was the best he'd ever played. For some strange reason, Conrad started playing very aggressively against Ron, almost as though there were some former grudge he was trying to dispel. He got very annoyed whenever Ron saved the Quaffle.

At the end of the hour all four of them landed on the ground in front of where the others sat. Jack and Andrew, who had been trying to secretly play cards (Harry had seen them but decided it was not worth mentioning) guiltily put them away and looked up, their faces red. Hermione, who had wanted to come with them without explaining why, put down her book and looked up, her face showing uncharacteristic nervousness. Harry glanced expectedly at Angelina, and, just as he'd anticipated, she started to speak.

"That was great, Conrad," she said, beaming. "I told you you'd be great with the Quaffle."

Conrad shrugged, though there was a hint of pride on his face.

"What do you think?" Angelina asked, turning to the rest of the team.

Harry motioned Ron, Ginny, and Katie over for a quiet conference. Conrad stayed a few feet away, apparently not insulted they were excluding him.

"He was . . . good," Harry admitted eventually. "Better than Ginny's friend." He gave her an apologetic look, and she scowled.

"And Clark," Katie said eagerly, looking more as if she wanted to insult Clark rather than admire Conrad' abilities.

Angelina didn't look especially happy with the latter comment, but accepted them both with a nod. "Ginny?"

The redhead was silent for a few seconds, a grim expression on her face. Finally she sighed and nodded. "Yeah. He would definitely help the team."

"So he's on?" Angelina asked excitedly.

Harry glanced at Ron.

He hadn't spoken at all since landing on the ground, and there was still a glare on his face.

"Only if we all agree," Harry said, indicating for Ron to speak.

"You know he's rude and impolite?" Ron asked Angelina hopefully.

She wrinkled her nose. "He was polite enough today."

"Yes, but we need to be able to trust him- we have to work together."

"Why shouldn't we trust him?" Angelina demanded.

Ron opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. Finally he shook his head. "I just don't like him."

"Neither do I," said Harry truthfully. "But I think the majority of the team thinks he'd be a good asset." He intentionally phrased it so Ginny couldn't argue- after all, just because she held some unknown grudge against Conrad didn't mean she hadn't admitted he would be a useful, helpful player.

"But you'll agree?" Angelina persisted.

Ron sighed. "Yeah," he said grumpily, defeated.

"Fabulous!" Angelina exclaimed, forgetting about Jack and Andrew; it didn't look as if the Beaters minded.

"Conrad," she called. The first year, a wary expression on his face, approached, keeping a careful distance between him and Harry and Ron.

"We all think you're a wonderful flier," she began. And, after listing some of his better techniques, she asked the question. "We'd like you to be on Gryffindor's team. Will you?"

Conrad was silent for a moment, staring at them as if he couldn't believe his ears. There was a glazed look in his eye, as if he were having a mental argument with himself. Harry exchanged a look with Ron. With any luck the first year would decide it would be too much of a hassle being on the team and decline.

Conrad opened his mouth. "I have to think about it," he said, looking determined. "Can I have a few days?"

Harry glanced at Angelina, and she shrugged. He glanced at Conrad, perplexed. It wasn't he answer he'd expected. He could say no and force the first year to choose then; it might increase their chances of him declining. On the other hand, Angelina seemed to really want him on the team. Katie looked bewildered; it was clear she had already assumed he would become their third Chaser.

Ginny and Ron were looking hopeful. If Harry said no, he would make them happy, but he would disappoint Angelina and Katie. There was no guarantee that Conrad would say yes, though, Harry reminded himself.

He looked up at the waiting first year. "All right," he told Conrad. "You can a few days to consider.

* * *

Hermione had thought Draco would start accusing her of trickery the second he entered the room. To her surprise, though, he simply said hello and sat down at the table where he started unpacking his bag. Looking at him suspiciously, she settled back in her chair and tried to concentrate on the book she was reading; it was hard considering she kept on looking up every few seconds expecting him to speak.

Finally he pushed aside his parchment, and she knew it was time for the tirade she'd been expecting.

"A funny thing happened yesterday," Draco began, bridging his fingers over the table. "Potter asked if I'd like to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team." His eyes bored into hers. "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in feigned surprise. "I don't need to tell you this- you were there!"

Hermione blushed. "Yes, I know. Have you decided?"

Draco was silent for a few seconds. "I don't know," he said at last. He gave her a wry glance, one eyebrow raised. "It doesn't help in the least that this was entirely your doing. Part of me wants to say no just out of spite."

"Oh, don't do that," Hermione protested. "I was only trying to do something nice since you said you missed flying. Besides." She sniffed. "That would be mean like the old Malfoy."

"Excuse me?" Draco demanded, outraged. "The old Malfoy? What's that supposed to mean?" His tone held a dangerous note.

Hermione paused, realizing she'd spoken without thinking. "I just meant that you've been very polite lately," she said after a moment of thinking. "Which you have to admit is different than how you used to be. I'm not trying to insult you; I'm just saying that's something the blonde Malfoy would do," she finished quickly, not sure whether she'd made things better or worse.

Draco was still glaring at her. "You're basing my personality on my hair color?"

"Er. No," she said, stalling for time. "Not necessarily. You've just been nicer lately since you've become a brunette. And you've never been nice to me as a blonde, so . . . It's a good change; let's keep it that way," she said hastily

Draco crossed his arms, scowling.

"The Quidditch team?" Hermione prompted.

"Right . . . as I said, part of me wants to say no like the old Malfoy would," he spat out, mimicking her. "After all, I'm not even really a Gryffindor. What would the other Slytherins say if they knew I was playing for our opponents?"

Hermione shrugged. "They'd probably congratulate you on getting to win for once in a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game." She blushed again as Draco glared at her.

"That is not what they'd say, they would put me straight into St. Mungo's," Draco informed her. "Not that I won't end up there anyway after all this."

"Is there any chance you'll say yes?" Hermione asked crossly, annoyed that she might have had to fly for no reason.

Draco paused. "Yes," he admitted. "I do want to play Quidditch again- and I wouldn't have to score many goals for Gryffindor would I?" he asked anxiously.

Hermione tried to keep from laughing. "Well, I know I'm not a Quidditch expert, but I'm pretty sure that's the whole point of being a Chaser."

"Yes, but if I only scored two or three every game I'd be fine, and I would hardly contribute if Gryffindor won," Draco mused aloud. "And I can fake sick when we play Slytherin."

This time Hermione did laugh. "So are you going to say yes?"

"If I did, I'd have to play with Potter and Weasley." He brightened suddenly. "Not that this wouldn't be an excellent thing to hold over them once I return to my body- imagine, Potter actually asked me to be on his Quidditch team. I will never let him forget it."

"Actually I think it was Angelina who officially asked you," Hermione pointed out.

Draco ignored her. "And Weasley will have a fit when this is over; he'll probably have to go to St. Mungo's, too." He sounded delighted at the prospect.

"Well, isn't that nice?" asked Hermione impatiently, beginning to get annoyed that she couldn't get a straight answer. "You two can be roommates. Now are you going to say yes or not?"

Draco stared at her thoughtfully. "Maybe. I probably will, though," he said, a little bit morosely. "Imagine, me playing for Gryffindor. If you'd asked me a week ago I would've said no instantly," he added. "But being on the broom and playing again- even though I wasn't chasing the Sntich . . ."

Hermione smiled as he fell silent, obviously musing on how it had felt to be playing Quidditch again. Everything was turning out wonderfully: her plan had worked with Harry and Ron none the wiser; Gryffindor was getting a third Chaser; and Draco was flying again, which seemed to be making him happy. She gave him a sideways glance and was startled to see he was gazing at her.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his cheeks pink. "That was very kind of you to try and get me on the Quidditch team."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked airily, feigning ignorance. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

He rolled his eyes, amused. "Though it was very sly and not at all nice of you to trick me like that," he added severely, indignant. "Not to mention Potter and Weasley are going to be horrified when they learn it's all your fault I'm on their team."

"I did not," Hermione argued. "Angelina did all of it. And I didn't even have to ask her," she admitted. "It was pure luck. I guess she started watching you after we mentioned seeing you on the pitch."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "So Potter and Weasley were giving you flying tips, were they? You know," he added slyly. "I could teach you how to fly if you wanted. I'll find you a broom- fastest one the school has- and then I'll teach you how to do all sorts of tricks- maybe I can even get you on the Quidditch team."

Hermione reddened. "Don't be silly," she snapped. "You know I only did that so Harry and Ron would see you flying."

He grinned triumphantly. "And there's the proof straight from your mouth. Potty and Weasel will be so pleased when they find out."

Hermione blushed furiously. "Be quiet," she ordered as he laughed. "Why are we talking about Quidditch anyway? Where are your essays from last week? Is this supposed to be a tutoring session or not?"

* * *

"Potter?"

Harry turned from where he sat at breakfast. Conrad Johnson stood behind him, a nervous yet determined look on his face. Harry waited for him to speak. The first year pushed aside his brown hair and opened his mouth.

"I'd like to be on the Quidditch team," he said firmly.

Ron, who was still facing but the table but obviously eavesdropping, choked on his scrambled eggs. Conrad ignored him.

Harry, caught by surprise, didn't answer for a few seconds. He glanced at Ron, but Seamus was busy hitting him on the back.

"Great," Harry said without much enthusiasm. "Practice is this Friday night. You don't mind using a school broom?"

Conrad grimaced but nodded. "No." There was a pause while both boys looked at each other. It was clear from their expressions that neither of them liked the other, and Harry found himself wondering yet again what was so strangely familiar about the first year. He certainly didn't look like anyone he knew.

"So we'll see you on Friday?" Harry asked finally.

Conrad nodded. "Yeah." Without another word, he turned and left, leaving Harry staring after him.

"I don't believe it," Ron groaned, pushing aside his eggs and laying his head on the table. "We'll never win another game with him on the team."

Harry stared after the retreating first year. "No," he mused, inexplicably knowing he was right. "He likes the game and wants to play well- he just doesn't like us."

* * *

A week later, Harry would have given almost anything to be going anywhere other than where he was going.

"It won't be that bad," Hermione comforted as they headed for Potions.

"Hermione," Harry said shortly. "We have to take a Love Potion. Of course it will be bad."

The day of their imminent doom had finally arrived; no one in the class, not even the Slytherins, were particularly looking forward to Potions. It was Harry's personal opinion that there would be no tomorrow. He and Hermione had received lots of good lucks from their friends as well as a few smirks and giggles. Ron had been red-faced all morning, barely able to contain his anger. The only thing he had said before they left was a fervent "don't kiss her" to Harry, who had turned bright red and spilt his glass of cider, and "if Snape doesn't show up at class today, promise you'll stand by me at the trial." Then, after clapping Harry rather ceremoniously on the arm and giving Hermione such a fierce hug she gasped, he turned and left them at the table.

Now, almost at Potions, Harry was rather hoping that perhaps Ron would do something terrible to Snape and they wouldn't have to take the Love Potions at all. It was a terrible irony that the previous year he had messed up so many Potions and now, on the one Potion he would have done anything to mess us, he had done perfectly. He couldn't even convince Hermione to mess up properly. She nearly had an apoplectic fit when her Potion turned bright green instead of pink- Hermione had smacked him particularly hard on the arm when she'd learned it had only been Harry with food coloring he'd borrowed from the kitchens. As for his own Potion, though he had added liberal amounts of blue food coloring, it had remained a steadfast pink, reminding him horribly of Valentine's Day second year. Snape, after discovering Harry's bottles of dye, took ten points from Gryffindor.

Several times during the potion-making process Harry had seriously considered purposely messing up the ingredients or simply refusing to make it. Snape had informed them all, though, that even if one student's potion didn't work, he would still have to test one of his classmates. It was also, unfortunately, a large part of that term's grade. Hermione, reminding Harry that Dumbledore had probably stepped in to make sure Harry had made it into O. W. L. Potions, made sure Harry didn't purposely mess up. He didn't speak to her hours, and once he found out, neither did Ron. Eventually Harry stopped trying to hurt his concoction; after all, if he would have to take the potion anyway, he might as well get the good grade for it.

"Once I have come by and inspected your potion, fill the glasses on your table halfway. Close your eyes, drink it, and only open them when you are staring directly at your partner. After all, this is the most simplistic of Love Potions and it will cause you to have minor feelings for the first person of the opposite gender you lay sight on. The potion is only temporary, so won't last for more than an hour."

Harry swallowed and glanced once more into his cauldron at his perfect pink potion. Hermione was watching Snape nervously as he paced around the class, murmuring assent to begin to the other students. When at last he came to their table, he sneered.

"Potter and Granger. How touching." He peered into each of their cauldrons. Harry, faced with the top of Snape's oily black hair, actually considered hitting him with something. One of the heavy glass beakers would certainly do the trick.

At last Snape straightened; he smirked menacingly. "For once, Potter, your potion is fine. Miss Granger-" His face puckered as if he were eating something sour. "As usual." He walked away. Hermione couldn't help but look proud; after all, it was probably the highest compliment Snape had ever paid a Gryffindor.

Harry silently filled his glass halfway. He glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye and saw she was doing the same.

"Ready?" she asked, looking determined.

"Cheers," Harry said bleakly. He knocked his glass against hers but there was too much liquid in them for a clink.

Hermione smiled weakly, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back. Harry watched as the potion disappeared from her glass before doing the same.

It tasted extremely odd; they hadn't added any sweet ingredients, but the Love Potion carried a hint of honey. It sparked and tingled in his mouth, sliding down his throat slowly. It was not a bad taste, like the Polyjuice Potion had been. In fact, if Harry hadn't been dreading it so, he would have found the taste likeable.

He swallowed- and immediately a vague sense of bliss came upon him. His eyes were still closed. Fixing his glass, he opened his eyes and stared straight at Hermione.

It appeared she had opened her eyes at the same moment, for she gave a little "oh" of surprise, and one hand went to her mouth. She blushed slightly, lowering her eyes so all Harry could see were her lashes and two little sparkles beneath them.

He hadn't ever realized how beautiful she was.

"Hermione," he stuttered, not knowing what to say, only that he wanted to communicate somehow how much he admired her, how happy he was to have such a brilliant, wonderful friend. He wanted to hold her hand and tell her all that and then maybe . . . maybe even ask her to go with him to Hogsmeade.

"Harry," replied Hermione just as softly, though her voice was a little unsure. Her smile flickered, and she looked confused. "I-" She fell silent.

"What?" he asked eagerly. "Hermione, I-" But, just as suddenly and inexplicably, he, too, fell silent.

Harry was furious with himself. Why couldn't he tell Hermione how he felt? Why were the words stuck in his mind somewhere? Why couldn't he tell her how pretty her hair looked when the light touched it and made gold streaks mixed in with her brown locks? Why couldn't he tell her how attractive she looked in the school uniform, much more so than any of the other girls at Hogwarts. Why couldn't he tell her that- that he no longer loved her as just a best friend?

"Hermione," he said in a strangled voice. "You look very pretty."

Hermione giggled, a blush creeping over her cheeks again. "Thanks, Harry." Her smile widened and she leaned toward him conspiratorially. Harry felt himself redden as her face drew neared, so close he could feel her breath on his cheek.

"I've always thought that scar made you look quite dashing," she whispered, her eyes locked on his. She reached up one hand tentatively and Harry nearly choked in nervousness. Slowly Hermione brushed his hair back and touched one finger lightly against his scar. Harry felt a warm feeling bubble up in his stomach.

"And," Hermione continued, still speaking in a whisper. "You're incredibly brave." She fluttered her eyelashes. Harry gulped, feeling a bit dizzy. He breathed in relief and disappointment as Hermione brought her hand away.

"Hermione," he said, feeling incredibly happy at the way she looked at him shyly. "I think I want to be more than friends," he said boldly.

Hermione blushed a deep red and giggled. "Oh, Harry," she murmured. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Because," said Hermione, her eyes dancing wickedly and her voice sly. "It's a bit too fast. We need to slow down. But-" She leaned close so she was whispering in his ear. Harry felt a shiver race through him. "Just a little."

He opened his mouth to say something witty when a memory flashed across his mind.

It was Hermione laughing with him and Ron at some misfortune that had befallen Umbridge; it was the three of them studying together in Gryffindor common room, Hermione berating them for not using the planners she'd given them for Christmas; it was Hermione having a butterbeer with him and Ron in the Three Broomsticks, just talking and laughing- as a friend.

Harry drew back, confused. This wasn't right. Hermione was his friend, not a girl he had secret feelings for. Other memories came to mind, ones with Cho. He was at Madame Puddifoot's on Valentine's Day, watching all the other couples kissing.

That wasn't what he wanted with Hermione. Hermione wasn't his girlfriend, she was his best friend! Harry's eyes were drawn to the cauldron where the rest of his Love Potion sat, taunting him. He fumed.

"Harry?" Hermione sounded concerned.

A bit of the sudden coldness in Harry evaporated. Her voice was so sweet, though. And she seemed to really care that he was all right.

Of course, she does! She's your best friend!

But what if he wanted her to be more than that? Harry, smiling warmly, turned to her, but this time it was her eyes that once more held doubt and confusion. Harry reached for her hand, but she drew it back hesitantly.

"Harry? What about Ron?" she asked softly.

Harry paused, remembering what Ron had said to him before Potions. "Don't kiss her." But I don't want to kiss her, part of him argued. I just want to let her know how I feel. And then? What next? A horrible thought occurred to Harry. What if he did kiss her? What if he kissed her and ruined their friendship? What if Ron was right when he had said he would become the third wheel?

No, Harry's sensible side said. It's a temporary Love Potion that will wear off in a few minutes. You're not really in love with Hermione, and you don't really want to kiss her. It's just a phase that will be over as soon as Potions ends.

Harry turned to Hermione to tell her she was right, that they had to stop, not only for Ron's sake, but for theirs as well.

"Harry, I'm confused," Hermione said slowly, her voice trembling slightly. "I don't know what's real and what isn't. I don't know how I feel." If he didn't know her so well he would have thought she was about to cry.

Harry was startled. It was the first time he had ever heard Hermione say she was confused. "I- it'll be all right," he said comfortingly, mentally screaming at her to be quiet. She wasn't helping matters by acting so vulnerable. It just made him think her all the more attractive.

Harry leaned forward, intending to hug her.

Instead, his lips brushed against hers.

It only lasted a second. Hermione, stunned, did not immediately pull away. With a jolt, Harry realized what he was doing. He was kissing his best friend, and even though she tasted so sweet and all he wanted to do was continue kissing her, he knew that wasn't what he was supposed to do. Both of them were shocked suddenly and forcefully back to their senses.

They both pulled away at once, red and stammering.

"Er," said Harry.

"We didn't mean that," said Hermione miserably, much more coherent than he was.

"No," said Harry hastily. "It was an accident, and it doesn't mean anything.""

"Absolutely," Hermione agreed.

"So we never tell Ron about this?"

"Absolutely."

Harry, still in shock over what they'd just done, tried not to look at Hermione. He would rather have looked anywhere than at Hermione because he knew the effects of the Love Potion were still lingering and if he looked at her he would want to kiss her again. Harry licked his lips, trying to get the taste of hers out of his mind and his senses. Hoping it would distract him, he glanced around at the other couples.

Only one other pair, a Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, were kissing. They seemed to be incredibly involved, both of them hugging each other fiercely, and Harry was pretty sure they must have secretly fancied each other beforehand.

Snape, grimacing, appeared about to pull them apart. Harry felt fury rise in him as he stared at Snape. It would be all his fault if his friendship with Hermione was ruined. And if it was- Harry knew he would do just as Ron was threatening and inflict major damage.

Some of the Slytherins looked the most comfy and, to Harry's surprise, the most relaxed. Most pairs were chatting comfortably and only blushing slightly. Harry assumed it was probably because the potions had a slighter affect on their normally cold natures. The same couldn't be said for the last pair, though. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were gazing at each other, enraptured. Pansy, who seemed to have forgotten all about Malfoy, was fluttering her eyelashes and laughing coyly at something Blaise had said. Harry could see a faint trace of lipstick around the Slytherin boy's mouth, and he knew there had been at least one other pair that had kissed.

Finally, he had to turn back to Hermione. It appeared she had been looking at him, for she blushed and glanced quickly away.

"Hermione," said Harry firmly, squashing the unwanted feelings that were rising within him.

"Yes?"

"We're still friends, right?" Harry asked quickly. "And you know I didn't mean what I said before, how I said I wanted to be more than friends?" He realized how foolish he must have sounded, not to mention how completely ridiculous it was, and he reddened.

Hermione nodded. "Of course," she said, sounding completely level-headed about the matter. "And if we never mention the kiss to Ron," she said, sounding for the first time a bit desperate. "We'll manage to survive until we're so old we can laugh about this."

"Although if we did tell him he might actually murder Snape," Harry said, brightening at the thought. "That would be doing everyone a favor." He was starting to feel better already. And then, wanting to prove to himself just as much as her that he could do it without accidentally kissing her, he reached forward to give her a hug.

At first Hermione hesitated, looking nervous and not meeting his eyes. Harry tried to look encouraging, his heart thumping painfully that she didn't seem to trust him.

"Hermione," he said in a low voice. "We agreed this wouldn't hurt our friendship."

"You're right," Hermione admitted, giving him a tired, rueful smile. "I feel terrible, though. As if we betrayed Ron somehow."

Harry, not wanting to admit he felt the same way, didn't reply. After another moment, Hermione allowed him to hug her. Harry sighed as she buried her face in his shoulder, taking deep shuddering breaths as she relaxed from tense to limp.

"It's all right," he said gently. And he actually meant it. He no longer felt anything more towards Hermione than brotherly love. The Love Potion had finally worn off. And so Harry hugged Hermione fiercely, comforting both her and himself. After a few seconds she put her arms around him, too, hugging so tightly Harry was afraid he wouldn't be able to breathe. They pulled away at the sounds of a few students getting up and hastily packing away their things. Then, slowly, they disentangled themselves and, smiling nervously at each other, stood.

"Let's go," Hermione said, smiling for real as they walked towards the door. As Harry passed Snape's desk, he felt one more surge of anger towards the sneering professor.

They left the dungeons as quickly as they could, walking swiftly up the stairs and to the Great Hall to where they would join Ron at lunch.

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were still kissing.

* * *

When Draco turned up for their next tutoring session he was scowling for no apparent reason. He flung his bag down on the table so hard a few books skidded out. Hermione, frowning, glanced at him, confused.

"What's the matter with you?"

Draco, seething slightly, narrowed his eyes at her, the scowl not disappearing. "I heard you had fun in Potions yesterday."

"Fun?" Hermione echoed. Her mind raced back to the disastrous effects the Love Potion had had and she flushed. "Don't be silly. Of course it wasn't fun."

"I heard Pansy telling Millicent you were having quite a good time with Potter," said Draco coldly, folding his arms.

"Well, Pansy is mistaken," Hermione said, just as icily. "The Love Potion was a dismal failure." It wasn't quite the truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie, either. After all, it had been a failure in the sense that it had, for a few minutes, jeopardized her relationship with Harry. She was just relieved that they hadn't let it ruin their friendship.

Nor, as they had agreed, did they tell Ron. The redhead had asked plenty of questions at lunch along with all the other Gryffindors, but all Hermione and Harry would tell them was that they had fancied each other for an hour and that was it. Ron had looked quite suspicious when they refused to give him more details later in private, but since he hadn't actually seriously thought they would kiss, he was satisfied. It had only made Hermione feel all the more guilty. Harry, in attempts at reconciling with his own guilt, had put aside his homework and spent all evening playing Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap with Ron. He had also offered to take care of Sprink for the last few days they had the pixies, and Ron, looking quite impressed, had willingly agreed. Hermione, not knowing what else to do, gave him all the help with his homework he asked for, short of letting him actually copy, of course. Ron had been quite confused by all the special treatment.

Draco was still glaring at her, though.

"Funny. I heard Pansy say you kissed him. That doesn't sound like a failure to me." He looked her, unblinking, straight in the eye. "Did you?"

Hermione flushed a deep scarlet, glad there was no mirror around for her to see herself. But it appeared her thoughts had been taken the wrong way, for the Room of Requirement responded instantly by putting a mirror on the wall. She frowned at her reflection but the redness in her cheeks didn't disappear.

"Did you?" Draco repeated.

Hermione took a deep breath. She couldn't lie to him, not about this anyway. It was clear he already knew the answer and was testing her.

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I did kiss him." She shrugged. "Well, he kissed me, but I didn't try to stop him." Wishing Ron was there to crack a joke, she hugged herself.

Draco stared at her thunderously. "And?"

"And?" asked Hermione irritably.

"What else?" Draco demanded. "Is he your new boyfriend?

"No," Hermione said angrily, her temper getting the better of her. "He isn't. He's just a friend. The kiss was an accident, and we both know it."

"But you must have felt something," Draco argued. "It was a Love Potion."

"Really? I thought it was apple cider," Hermione retorted.

"You wanted to be more than Potter's friend," he said accusingly.

"So what if I did? It was only for one class, and it wasn't my fault!" Why was he acting so childish? she fumed. It wasn't at all like him to be so upset over a simple Love Potion. Was this all just because he had missed out?

"Is this because Pansy kissed Blaise?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

Draco stared at her in surprise and then gave a short, bitter laugh. "Of course, not. How many times do I have to tell you she was not my girlfriend?"

"Funny, she seemed to think she was," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"I imagine Weasley isn't taking this well," Draco said, quickly changing the subject.

Hermione flushed. "He doesn't know."

Draco raised an eyebrow, his expression cool. "Why not?"

"Because he'd just get mad at us." She glared at him fiercely. "Don't you dare tell him. I don't want our friendship ruined because you told him about a stupid assignment."

Draco made a face. "Are they really that precious to you?" he asked scornfully.

"Yes," Hermione said in steely tones. "They're my best friends."

"Fine," he snapped. "I can see why they'd want to be best friends with a girl who snogs them all the time."

Hermione felt as if she'd been slapped. She was shaking from anger, unable to believe he'd just said that. "It was an accident! Of course, you wouldn't know since no girl in her right mind would ever kiss you. I certainly wouldn't, whether I was under the effects of a Love Potion or not," she said furiously. "Why do you care so much that I kissed Harry, anyway?"

Draco was silent, glaring at her. "I don't," he said mutinously. "It's just that Potter doesn't deser-" He cut himself off abruptly, and, still glaring at her, refused to say another word.

"Fine," said Hermione angrily, standing up suddenly. Aqua squeaked in surprise as Hermione crumpled up the paper the pixie had been drawing on. "Obviously you're not going to be polite today, so I'm leaving. Good-bye, Malfoy," she said bitingly. "If you think you can manage act civilized about the whole matter then I'll see you tomorrow night. If you're going to make snide comments, though, don't come at all."

Hermione walked swiftly to the door, pulled it open, and walked out. Behind her Draco turned to stare broodingly into the fire. Hermione, in all her anger, didn't see Draco glance up again, his mouth open. She let the door slam behind her, not caring if anyone heard and came to investigate.

I thought he had stopped acting immature, she thought, witheringly picturing his boyish face and limp brown hair. Since when did he act like the eleven year-old he looked like?

He was acting . . . jealous, almost. But that was impossible. Why would he, of all people, be jealous that she had kissed Harry? That was something she would expect of Ron if he knew.

Perhaps it was just the fact that once again, he had missed out on a special part of their sixth year, she reasoned. It was highly unfair of him, though, since only a quarter of their year were taking the class anyway. True, he would have been in the class if he hadn't been cursed, but it wasn't fair for him to take his anger out on her, especially since she had helped him catch up on most of the other things. She had let him practice human transfiguration on her, and she had even helped get him on the Quidditch team!

It was time for him to start acting a bit more like a sixteen year-old, Hermione fumed, whether he looked like one or not. It was time that he stopped moping about his situation and did something about it. Had he even tried to figure out what spell the Death Eaters had used on him?

It was then that Hermione resolved to make him find the answers. If he was too lazy to do it himself, she certainly wasn't going to do it for him. But she would prod him in the right direction. If he wasn't as rude to her as he had been, that is.

Hermione, looking grim, entered Gyffindor Tower, ready to face another evening of uncomfortable silences with Harry and forced cheerfulness with Ron.