Mind Games

All of the teachers and what seemed like half of the students had come to visit them. Usually to ask if they 'felt all right' and if they would 'be coming back to classes any time soon'. To the first, Harry would answer 'yes,' and to the second, 'I hope so.' Of course, Malfoy's answers were quite different.

'I did, until you arrived,' and 'Well, actually, I've come up with a diabolical plan that will shut down the school, so no.'

Malfoy was so terribly annoying.

Especially how even when he'd been stuck in an infirmary for the past week he still managed to look adorably ruffled. Harry was sure that he, himself, looked like Fluffy had been using him for a chew toy.

He refused to acknowledge that he'd even thought that. Malfoy. Adorable. Honestly!

In any case, he was bored and alone in the infirmary with bloody Malfoy of all people. And Madame Pomfrey, curse her soul, had no intention of letting them out in the foreseeable future.

If Malfoy had been annoying on the spiritual plane, he was doubly so in the real world. Harry was sorely tempted to take a large mallet and hit his nemesis' head with it, just to knock some sense in. Die, Malfoy, die!

And that sultry look that the blond boy kept giving him didn't help either. Before those looks, Harry hadn't thought it possible to convey pure, unadulterated lust (Unadulterated lust? Was that an ox-moron? Or whatever it was called.) in a simple glance.

But what the hell was Malfoy lusting after? Or was that mostly Veela heritage simply, for lack of females under fifty, focusing on him? Maybe Malfoy simply couldn't do without sex for more than two weeks at a time. Anything's possible. Especially anything concerning Malfoy.

Minerva McGonagall's first and last words to Narcissa Malfoy, were:

"Hello? Who's out there, at this time of the night? Oh... Are you here to see your son?"

Narcissa's first, though most certainly not last, words to Minerva McGonagall were:

"Oh, the deputy headmistress and transfiguration professor. How do you do? Oh, but be a dear and take my coat, won't you? Thank you. Yes, to see Draco. And isn't it a shame about Lucius? But, I suppose, it was bound to happen sooner or later, with that stuff he was mixed up in. Ah, well. Anyway, I'll be staying for quite a while, seeing as how the ordeal Draco's gone through has to have been quite trying on his poor soul. He's never been the sturdiest boy, I must say. And with that heathen Potter boy, as well! I don't know what I'll do if Draco's picked up some odd course language or such..."

McGonagall blinked. Either Mrs. Malfoy was not aquatinted with her son and his extremely broad vocabulary of expletives, or the woman was putting one of her famous "Postures".

Narcissa's acting was well-known throughout aristocracy. When someone met her and remarked on how unusual she was, those already aquatinted with the woman would giggle behind their hands and tell the newcomer that, no, Narcissa is a Poseur, and is 'posturing'.

McGonagall's attention snapped back into place when the woman in question pushed her heavy coat into the professor's arms and made her way down the hall. Dubious that Mrs. Malfoy actually remembered the way to the hospital wing, the transfiguration professor followed.

"Oh, Severus!"

Snape froze. 'Oh, Severus,' was right up there with 'Dear'. 'Oh, Severus,' sounded as if it belonged in one of the more lurid romance novels. Those with dark red covers rather than pastel pink, and women halfway bent over in their lover's arms.

There was only one person he knew who actually spoke and acted as if she lived in one.

"Narcissa?"

"Oh, Severus, how I've missed you. You don't know how it's been... Lucius was so terribly dreadful, and I've had to raise Draco almost entirely on my own. And at the end of every day, I'd be looking longingly out the window and think, 'if only I'd said yes to Severus instead...' You don't know how I regret it, Severus. To think of all the years we've missed..."

And suddenly he had an armful of platinum blond ex-Malfoy.

"Narcissa!"

"Oh, Severus!"

"Narcissa! Get off!"

She took her weight off of his chest and crossed her arms over her own. "Whatever is the matter? I've missed you, and I've heard so often of your lonely, bitter, bachelor ways that I know I've been missed in return. Oh, Severus."

"Stop saying that! And you haven't been missed. I haven't thought of you since I was eighteen, Narcissa. I did date other girls, and I decided that I rather liked being alone. And don't ever give me anything about long-lost love, or I shall use a demon-banishing charm on you. Go away."

She pouted prettily. "But I need a man around the house, now... And you're ever so manly..."

"Don't strike a Pose with me, Narcissa. Besides, Draco's nearly grown now. And will you take about three steps back? You're invading my personal space."

Another perfectly executed pout, this time accompanied with a dainty stamp. "Draco? Manly? Oh, honestly, Severus. The boy's so effeminate I really worry, sometimes. Do you know, he takes longer to do his hair than I do mine? And you know me. That's just frightening."

"It is," Snape agreed, "but not so much as you being within a one-foot radius of me. Back, Narcissa."

Pout, stamp, hand on hip. "Oh, really, Severus."

The Very Evil Potions Guy-Person (as christened by a drunk Ron a little over a week ago) scowled blackly.

Narcissa's jaw jutted out in determination. "There's something else... Another woman, perhaps? Whatever it is, Severus, I'll find it. Or her. And then I'll do something horrible to it-or-her that I haven't quite thought of yet."

And, with that, she delicately stomped off.

Draco was... was... well, 'not happy' would be putting it mildly. For one thing, he hadn't been let near a jar of hair gel for days, and was suffering withdrawal symptoms. For another thing, chocolate was being systematically shoved down his throat against his wishes on the hour, every hour, and he was extremely concerned over losing his girlish figure.

Well, you could hardly call Draco's figure anything but girlish with a straight face, could you?

Further, he was bored. Giving Potter seductive looks had lost its charm after the first couple of hours (though he still kept it up, out of blind hope that he'd drive the boy insane) and there were no other forms of entertainment. Well, occasionally one of Potter's oddball friends would stumble in and do something highly amusing, but they'd hurry out again once they noted that he, Malfoy, was still there.

This meant that he would probably be driven to the next step of Potter torture.

In the words of evil masterminds bent on world domination everywhere...

"Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha."

The Young Women of Gryffindor, as they called themselves, were consulting each other on the modern happenings of the school and the residents thereof while the other occupant of their domain concerned herself with her studies.

This meant that Lavender, Parvati, and Kelly (the hitherto unmentioned roommate) were happily gossiping their little heads off, and Hermione was dutifully pretending to disapprove while secretly listening to everything they said.

"Did you hear that Narcissa Malfoy showed up on the grounds today, demanding to see her son?"

"Oh, Parv, everyone knows that. Did you hear that Snape's her secret lover and now that Lucius is out of the picture, they're going to marry? But they're going to disown Malfoy first, because he's holding a secret relationship with Ginny Weasley."

Lavender gave her cousin, Kelly Green, a scathing look. "Oh, honestly, Kelly. If you're going to fabricate rumours you might to them believably. Everyone knows Malfoy's gay."

Hermione froze mid page-turn. Huh. So that was it. She had thought she'd caught Malfoy giving Harry a distinctly lustful wink.

"He is not! He flirted with me only yesterday, when I came to visit."

"Dear, 'Bugger off,' is not flirting."

"He said it sexily," Kelly pouted.

"Anyway, he doesn't do the limp-wrist thing, or hit on guys, and he certainly doesn't lisp."

"Doesn't mean he's not gay."

"Well, okay, but how did you know?"

"We-ell... Let's just say I heard it from Pansy Parkinson that he and Blaise Zabini had a little rendezvous."

"Yeah, so? Zabini's a girl," Parvati said sceptically.

"Is not! I have it good authority he's a boy."

"Girl."

"Boy!"

"Girl!"

"Well, if he's a she, then I'm really confused, because it kissed me."

Silence for a while. Then...

"Oh-my-MERLIN! Lavender, you got kissed by a person of, not only questionable sexuality, but also questionable GENDER! Wow!"

"Didn't you ask Parkinson?"

"She doesn't know. Nobody does. Can you imagine walking up to him/her and saying, 'Excuse me, we want to know-are you a girl or a boy?' Honestly!"

"Well, aren't the dorms they put it in self-explanatory?"

"No. The teachers were so embarrassed about it they gave he/she his/her own room. With bathroom. And he/she's never been on the Quidditch team, so no one's seen him/her undressed."

"Hmm... Anyway, back to Snape... I don't know about eloping with Mrs. Malfoy, but I do know that she has a thing for him. I don't think it's... oh, what's the word? Hermione? What's the word that means, like, returned? And if it's one-sided it's un-the word. Hermione?"

She sighed and rolled over. "Requited."

"Right. I don't think it's 'requited'. Why do you think Snape's so bitter, anyway?"

"Oh, that's easy. I was talking to Hannah Abbot, who says her mum went to school at the same time he did. Apparently, Hannah's mum had a friend who dated Peter Pettigrew - rest in peace - for a long time, and they were really close. So this friend told Hannah's mum that Snape had a thing for Lily Potter. Well, not Potter then, obviously, but still. Harry's mum. And that was unrequited love. He got really bitter because James Potter was better at everything - sort of like Harry and Malfoy, except Malfoy's better at school, I think - and stole his girl. And then she died and he's been morning her ever since, and hates Harry because he survived when Lily didn't."

Kelly and Lavender leaned in closer to Parvati. The latter was at last able to summon up the power of her overused vocal cords. "Really? Honestly? Brilliant!"

"Uh-huh. And, furthermore, Snape sees history repeating with Harry and Malfoy, except since Malfoy's not after any Gryffindor girl - whether it's because he's gay or hates Gryffindors, we don't know - and Harry hasn't ever shown interest in anyone, he sort of centres on Ron and Hermione. So he's actually trying to make Hermione fall madly in love with him."

Hermione blinked several times and blushed deeply, hiding her face in her book. Of course, it was pure fantasy (not the right word, Granger!), but it was still highly embarrassing. Snape. Her. Eaugh!

Then... "Parvati. That was mean."

"Sorry. But it could happen, you know."

"Anyway, I think Hermione's got a thing for Snape."

The young woman in question hurled a book at Kelly Green's head.

"We've got to get out of here. I'm going to go insane. Insane-er. More insane. Damn Hermione and her grammar corrections."

"Poor, poor Potter," Malfoy sneered.

"Well? You can't be enjoying this... Sitting, staring at those blank, white walls... Forever and ever and..." Potter trailed off.

"All right! I get it. We have got to get out of her. I can't even carry out my thirty-first nefarious plot to drive you insane/expel you/chop you up in little-bitty pieces and mix you in with McGonagall's tuna."

"Exactly. Though are you sure it was only thirty-one? Anyway, I can't go insane/foil your expulsion plots/avoid being chopped up into little-bitty pieces and mixed in with McGonagall's tuna either. So we've got to escape. The air ducts seem the best way."

"The what?"

"Air ducts. The holes up there. See?"

Malfoy looked, and burst into laughter. "I've no idea what 'air ducks' are, Potter, but those are House Elf Highways. If you tried to crawl through those, you'd be ground into mush by a speeding House Elf. My uncle died that way... Damn dangerous creatures. If they're going top speed - and they usually are - nothing can stand in their way. They cut right through anything. The residue, if organic, is not a pretty picture. Save me from a speeding House Elf."

"Eewwww!" Potter voiced.

"Once more, you took the words directly from my mouth; it's not a pretty picture. Like yourself. But perhaps we could undo the spells on the door. A few well-placed charms..."

"With what wand?"

"Blood from the veins of a hundred Hufflepuff virgins! Damn!"

Harry started, to his mortification, giggling.

"What now, Potter."

"That... was... horrible..." Harry choked out between convulsive bouts of laughter, "but... sort of... funny."

Draco's lips twitched, but he rearranged them into his sexiest smirk, and oozed out of his bed. Well, he could put his plan into action even inside the Infirmary. "Do you really think so, Potter?" He purred.

Harry blinked, blinked again, and raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to be seductive, Malfoy? Because I thought you should know that it just doesn't go with the striped blue pyjamas."

Malfoy looked down, blushed (Harry was amazed at this. He didn't think Malfoy could blush. Not because he thought the boy was incapable of embarrassment, no... But because he thought the boy was incapable of colour.), and scrambled back into bed. Damn! Plan foiled yet again!

"So what are we going to do? Grab a House Elf and make him clear out their tunnels for us?" Draco sneered, steadfastly pretending the last thirty seconds never happened.

"Do you know, that's actually a pretty good idea."

Hermione was preparing to meet Narcissa Malfoy. It wasn't really right to crush on a teacher, but it was even less so to crush on a teacher with a girlfriend/fiancé/wife. So, because she didn't consider abandoning her crush worth thinking of, she was going to make sure Snape never got any of the previously-mentioned three.

She'd dug up the remnants of the potion she used on her hair when she was forced to attend special occasions and raided Lavender's makeup supply. She had also convinced Parvati into lending her most flattering, clingy dress. (Parvati was almost the same build and height as Hermione.) She would not, however, go so far as to wear the heels Kelly was trying to force on her.

"I don't really have anything against high-heels," she said, "in fact, I quite like them. But those aren't high-heels. Those are stilts with shoes attached. Just look at them! I'm sorry, but my heels object to being at a ninety-degree angle to my toes!"

"It's the only way you'll be as tall as Mrs. Malfoy," Kelly said firmly.

Hermione hesitated. "Really?" Height was important.

"Yes. If you want to scare her off our horrid professor long enough to get him to give you extra credit, you'd better wear heels." What? Did you think she'd actually tell them why she was really going? She could lie as well as any Slytherin! Well, okay, so her eye would twitch spasmodically when she did it, but The Young Women of Gryffindor didn't know that.

"Well..." she said.

"Go on. You'll look marvellous."

"Well..."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Snapey-poo drops Malfoy's mum for you."

That settled it. "Oh, fine," Hermione said, and very nearly took Kelly's hand off as well when she snatched the shoes, "I'll wear them."

The door crash-banged open. Hermione half-suspected that Narcissa would have her arms wrapped around Snape's neck and would jump apart the minute she, Hermione, entered the room, but Narcissa wasn't there. Neither was Snape. How disappointing.

She collected herself after a moment of depression and marched about the adjoining rooms for a bit until she was sure that neither was there. She did manage to find a letter to Honeydukes detailing the request for a large order of Sugar-Spun Quills. Hermione was amused in spite of herself. She'd always suspected Snape of blood-flavoured lollipops.

She prowled around a bit more, and managed to come up with a Post-It note (Wizard Post-Its never went unsticky.) which read, in a very spiky hand that she recognised as Snape's, '10pts & Dtn 1st, 15pts & Dtn 2nd, Ridicule W, avoid G & mini W.'

After decoding this - 'Ten points and detention first class, fifteen points and detention second class, ridicule [Ron] Weasley, avoid Granger and Ginny Weasley.' - she laughed for what seemed like an hour. To think that Snape actually made note of what nastiness he was going to inflict on his pupils every day! The poor man must not have much in the way of short-term memory.

She was in the process of hunting for more amusing Post-It notes when the door crash-banged open once more. She briefly thought it must be used to doing so as she straightened up and came face-to-face with...

Snape.

Damn!

"Miss Granger," he began in the iciest voice imaginable, "what do you think you are doing?"

"Um," she said, and prayed to Salazar Slytherin for a good lie, "I was, er, looking for Post-It notes. I hear you have a lifetime supply or something." The last part was actually true. When he was twenty-seven, Severus Snape walked into Zonko's at exactly the wrong moment and won the joke-prize - a lifetime supply of Post-It notes. It was the bane of his existence. That he, Severus Snape, had an infinite Post-It note supply. King of Post-Its! Aargh.

Despite his aversion of Post-It notes, Snape was not fooled. "No, you were not. You were trying to find out if the rumour about Mrs. Malfoy is true."

"Rumour? What rumour? Haven't heard any rumours," she said adamantly.

"That, in itself says you're lying. Even Longbottom hears at least fifteen a day. And if I ever catch you interfering with my personal life again, there shall be serious consequences. Do I make myself understood?" he growled. Miss Granger was fine enough for a student, but there was a limit.

"So you are dating her," Hermione said before she could help herself.

"No! I am not dating her, I have no interest in dating her, I dated her once when I was much younger and will never, ever do it again. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Hermione squeaked, and scampered out. He relaxed slightly. Now that she had her answer, perhaps she'd revert to her normal, super-studious, teacher's-pet self. It would be, he reflected, a great relief for his poor, frazzled nerves.

"Now, look, Dobby. I just want you to clear everyone out of the House Elf Highway things," Harry persuaded, "it isn't much, and I'd be very grateful."

"Dobby respects Sir, but Dobby can't do what Sir requests. Potions Master has told Dobby he is not to be helping Harry Potter anymore while breaking rules."

"Dobby," Draco thundered, and rose out of his cot with all the majesty one can command while wearing blue, pinstriped pyjamas, "You will clear out the Highways or your fingers will be ironed and your ears shut in the oven door. And then you shall be given clothes, and so many clothes that no respectable Wizarding family will take you in."

Dobby shivered convulsively and drew back from his former master. "Dobby will do as sir says," he said reverently, then paused and a sly look crept into his sly-less face. "Yes, no one is telling Dobby that he isn't to be helping Master Malfoy. No one is telling Dobby this. Dobby will do so immediately!" And, with that, the little House Elf popped up into the Highway and sped into the distance.

Potter looked at Malfoy with something that must have been a cross between disgust and admiration. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"I don't know... be you?"

Malfoy considered this at length, chin resting on a fist. At last, he answered. "It takes a great deal of practice and dedication. Exercise, too, in just the right amounts. Too much and you'll look like a muscle-bound freak. I'm perfection..."

"If you're talking about a twelve-year-old girl."

"... itself. Shut up, Potter. Then you have to hone the attitude into the divine mix of force and control, resulting in..."

"The mannerisms of an arrogant, ignorant, and whiny prat."

"yet again, perfection. And, yet again, shut up, Potter. I don't believe I'll continue."

"Good. Do you suppose they're cleared out by now? Here, hop up on my shoulders and have a look."

Malfoy weighed the choices. He could climb up on Potter's shoulders and possibly get obliterated by a speeding elf, or he could not. Potter's shoulders were awfully tempting. They were nice and broad. Oh, Hell. He climbed onto the other boy's shoulders.

"You're heavy."

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

There was a pause during which Harry shifted rather uncomfortably. He was fully aware that Malfoy would be holding this over him for an indefinite amount of time.

"Well, I'm still alive, so I'd say they're all gone. Boost me up a little farther."

Harry complied and the weight lifted from his shoulders as Draco hauled himself up into the House Elf Highway. His voice floated down a few seconds later, sounding oddly distorted. "Do you need me to lend you an ankle or something, Potter?"

"I'm not a midget like you. I'll be just fine." It did take a bit of negotiating and a few unpleasant falls, but he eventually made it up into the hole with his former-arch-nemesis. (You Know Your Social Life Is Screwed Up When...)

"Come on, Potter! Crawl for you life! Or at least your figure. I swear, if I eat any more chocolate..."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Voldemort was not a happy person. The two (damn) boys had woken up, which completely ruined his plans. No matter, though, a good Evil Dark Lord always had backup plots.

Unfortunately, he'd used them all up.

(Damn!)

But... wasn't that little Granger girl attracted to Third-Order-Minion, Severus Snape?

Maybe if he could get Snape to seduce her, get all of Potter's juicy secrets out of her... Maybe even turn her to the Dark Side and convince her to plant some sort of trap or portkey or...

Yes. This had possibilities. All right, so seduction was a bit clichéd, but being an Evil Dark Lord was all about clichés.

He liked that word. Cliché. Heh. It sounded cool. Cliché.

(Damn!) He'd been thinking un-Evil Dark Lord-ish thoughts again. He wasn't supposed to do that. He concentrated on blood and guts and Stephen King books.

It was not Ginny's day.

The whole thing had started off with seeing Hanna and Neville snogging in the broom shed. One does expect people snogging in broom sheds, and one is always prepared when fetching the Cleensweep 7, but one is slightly unprepared for the shy, clumsy ex-boyfriend and that annoyingly sweet Hufflepuff engaged in aforementioned snogging activities.

Yuck!

And then she had been kidnapped by the positively awful Young Women of Gryffindor, who handcuffed her to the toilet and loaded her with so many makeup spells she was afraid her face would fall off. Ginny liked makeup, when used sparingly. There was nothing spare at all about the Young Women of Gryffindor, though, unless you counted the quantity of their clothes.

Shortly thereafter, Colin Creevey had asked her for a date. Any other day, and she might have firmly-but-kindly told him 'no'. Today, however, she told him to something rude and physically impossible (well, unless you were Draco Malfoy, who could do anything) and threw her romance novel at him.

In despair, she had thundered downstairs in search of peace, quiet, and other fantastic creatures. Unfortunately, she was not to find them.

First came Hermione half-running, half-tripping in impossible high heels, looking very determined. It wasn't just the heels, though. It was the whole thing. She looked like someone had fused Parvati Patil and herself together, rather than Plain-Old-Hermione.

After that, Ron started to press her for what Hermione was doing, because he knew she was up to something, he did.

Then McGonagall gave her a detention because it's against the school rules to get your brother in a headlock and threaten him with neutering.

And now, and now, Harry Potter had fallen face-first onto her chest.

Two years ago, she might have appreciated this and blushed horribly, but Ginny wasn't in two years ago. She was in now. And boys were not allowed on her chest.

She shoved him off and kicked him in the thigh for emphasis, before being hurled to the ground again by a falling Draco Malfoy. She didn't mind quite so much this time, because Malfoy was sprawled inoffensively across her stomach, and he got up quickly enough. She still kicked him, though. She quite enjoyed kicking people. There is nothing quite so satisfying as the sound a platform boot makes when it connects with a person's leg.

"Flipping Flobberworms!" was Malfoy's only comment as he winced and clutched his leg. Potter just moaned and made a general show of being miserable.

"Remind me never to come in physical contact with a Weasley under five-foot-eleven," Malfoy groaned.

"Serves you right for landing on me," Ginny chastised. "Girls are not pillows. Most importantly, we kick, bite, and pull hair as well as punch, so we're more dangerous than you. Now clear off, this is my sulking spot. I have had a bad day, and I'm more than willing to spread it around.

The two offending boys, both clad in blue pinstriped pyjamas, scampered off as quickly as their limping would allow.

Hermione sighed. It was boring, now. Mrs. Malfoy wasn't threatening, and Harry and Malfoy were out of danger. Not to mention that Ron was drinking Butterbeer instead of Firewhiskey, and Ginny wasn't dating Neville anymore. (That relationship had lasted a very scary three days.)

On the other hand... nothing around Harry was boring.

As if to prove her point, the door burst open and Harry and Malfoy spilled in, unanimously demanding that she find some clothes for them. (Someone had carted Harry's trunk off to a Hogwarts vault to prevent anything being stolen.) She giggled at their pyjamas. Malfoy in blue pinstripes was a site to treasure. When they started to shake her and threaten her life, though, she gave in and stomped up the stairs to find some robes their size. (As no one in the sixth year boy's dorm was even close to Malfoy's build aside from Harry - who was tall and scrawny rather than short and scrawny - he was given a choice between girl's robes and a set of Seamus' that were far too big. He elected Seamus' and belted them very tightly.)

Now that they were both back in proper clothes again, Malfoy was recovering his seductive look. Hermione didn't want to stick around for when he geared up to full power. She had seen it once, and, well...

That was beside the point. There was only one Slytherin in her heart at the moment, and he could have been her father. No skinny, Veela-descended girly-man was going to embarrass her.

Without a further word, she strode out.

Leaving Harry and Draco alone.

Together.

(Not in pyjamas.)

In a bedroom.

And we all thought she was smart.

"So. Potter."

"So. Malfoy."

Initiating Drop-Dead-Sexiness attraction thingy. Systems preparing... All systems go. Full Power!

"Woah," said Harry.

"What?"

"Did you just get... taller?"

"Ma-aybe."

"Did your hair just get... longer?"

"Ma-aybe."

"Did you just get... prettier?"

"Handsomer," Malfoy said strictly.

"Right," Potter replied distantly, sounding as if he was under the influence of Imperius.

"Ma-aybe." Reduce power slowly... 50%, 25%, 10%... Drop-Dead-Sexiness attraction thingy off.

"What was that?"

"What was what," Malfoy said far too innocently, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"That. You know, that. What did you do to me?"

"Nothing!" the blonde assured him. "Why, did you want me to?"

Harry sputtered. Then, after a long pause...

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you, you know."

Sigh. "Am I what, Potter?"

"You know. Do you, er, like boys?"

Snort, roll eyes, hand on hip. "What do you think?"

"Er, yes?"

"Potter, I'm mostly Veela. I like everything that's pretty and has a heartbeat. And at least vaguely human. You qualify for all three. Why, do you like boys?"

"Er."

"Er, what?" Malfoy demanded.

"Er, I'll have to get back at you about that."

"That's not good enough."

"Look, how do I know? I've never kissed anybody! I don't know," Harry said nervously.

"Oh, you don't, do you?"

"Malfoy? Malfoy? What are you doing... Malfoy. No. Don't... mm."

A long pause, then...

"Made up your mind, then, Potter?"

Huskily, "uh...Yeah."

His mind was a mess...

- Finis -