Superlatives

It was in Transfiguration that the real trouble started. Harry hadn't been able to shake Ron, who was now sitting beside him and demanding an explanation for his dodgy behavior. It got moderately better when McGonagall entered the room, until she announced that today's lesson would be a practical one. Harry sat stiffly in his chair, watching Ron endeavor to transfigure a mouse into a cat. His best attempt had two arses and no head. When McGonagall approached, Harry just stared at her mutely, silently begging her to leave him alone.

"Mr. Potter," she chided. "I'm not certain what game you're playing, but you will attempt this transfiguration now."

Just as he was beginning to panic, there was a loud, feminine shriek from behind them. Everyone turned to stare in shock. An enormous lion crouched on Malfoy and Parkinson's table, glaring balefully around the room. It let loose with a ferocious roar, and everyone leapt to their feet in fright.

Lavender Brown tripped over her robes and grabbed Millicent Bulstrode in a very unfortunate and distracting spot, just as she was casting her spell. As a direct result, Theodore Nott grew pointy little ears, whiskers, and a tail. When he opened his mouth to protest, all that came out was a plaintive,

"Meow?"

McGonagall whipped out her wand to change the lion back before it could do something irreversible, like eat someone's head.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she cried indignantly. "What is the meaning of this?"

He smiled innocently up at her, ignoring Nott's irate hissing. "Oops?" he offered.

By the time McGonagall had sorted out Nott, which she accomplished by sending him to the infirmary for Poppy to deal with, and turned her attention back to Harry, there was a small, orange cat blinking sleepily where his mouse used to be. She eyed him somewhat suspiciously, but, still shaken, she let it go. He turned to smile his thanks to Dean, who'd taken advantage of the melee to transfigure Harry's mouse.

As he passed by Malfoy's desk at the end of class, his nemesis met his eyes calmly, giving no indication of whether his botched transfiguration was intentional. But, this was one of Malfoy's best subjects, and he never made mistakes in their practical lessons. Harry's lips quirked just a touch, and he nodded slightly in recognition.

Draco entered the Great Hall for lunch, noting with distaste that everyone stopped what he or she was doing to gawk. He didn't mind being ogled, per se, but only when he was in control of the situation. This was far too much like last year, when everyone found out that Lucius had taken up residence in Azkaban. He turned up the wattage on his Malfoy glare, pleased when several Hufflepuffs quivered. Stalking gracefully to his seat, he showed no hint of being bothered by the chaos around him.

As he listened to Pansy whine about the essay assigned by Snape, and idly entertained fantasies of fashioning a muzzle for her overactive mouth, Potter blew into the Hall in a dark cloud of barely controlled fury. Draco was amused to note that people instinctively stepped out of his way. The Boy Who Lived dropped into his seat and began mechanically shoving food in his mouth, refusing to meet Weasel's eyes. Granger was clearly trying to keep the peace, but the redhead only had eyes for Potter.

Weasel's strident voice carried well, though it hardly mattered considering that everyone in the Hall had stopped speaking in favor of listening in.

"What the bloody hell are you on, mate?" he demanded of Harry.

The raven-haired wizard blinked.

Hermione sighed. "Ron," she snapped. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" he repeated incredulously. "You want me to calm down when my supposed best mate is a bloody shirt-lifter?"

"Ron, it's just a photograph," the witch reasoned, cringing as she realized that the whole school was watching.

The redhead refused to back down. "He hasn't even bothered to defend himself, 'Mione." He glanced at Harry with distaste. "Everyone saw him acting chummy with that slimy, Slytherin snake in Potions," he accused.

"They weren't being chummy," she pointed out. "They simply completed their potion without loss of limb."

Ron thumped the table triumphantly. "Exactly! Those two should be tearing each other's throats out, not bloody shagging! Just the thought of two blokes going at it makes me sick, not to mention that it's Malfoy!" He turned to Harry. "Tell me it's not true," he ordered, blue eyes blazing.

Harry spoke for the first time since breakfast. "I'm not shagging Malfoy," he hissed, words sounding like a cross between English and Parseltongue. "But if I was, it'd be none of your fucking business."

The redhead opened his mouth to retort, but found himself suddenly, and quite literally, tongue-tied.

"THACK!" he burbled intelligently.

Harry stormed out of the Great Hall, the air around him shimmering with magic. The dramatic flaring of robes that ensued (grudgingly) impressed even Snape.