Shah Mata

Chapter Two

"Hi, Potter." Ted did not really expect a polite response, so he was understandably unsurprised when he did not receive one.

"Come to mock me, Nott?" Potter snarled savagely without looking up from his work.

"No...eh. It was worth a shot. I gave it a shot. You and I can both agree that I gave it a shot, right? Be sure to spread the rumour that I spoke to you," Ted advised. Potter stared at him like he had gone mad. Which, under the circumstances, would appear to be the case. Slytherins did not regularly approach Gryffindors or babble nonsense at them, let alone both.

"Gave what a shot?" Potter glanced cautiously around the library, as if expecting a contingent of Slytherins to pop out from behind the bookshelves and hex him.

"Speaking to you civilly. There, duty done now - I'll be off now." He dusted his hands theatrically and made to leave. Potter caught the back of his robes, effectively halting Theodore mid-step.

"And why would you want to do that?"

Ted shrugged awkwardly. If Potter kept hold any tighter, the Gryffindor would soon be holding only the garment and not the Slytherin. "Who said anything about wanting to?"

"Then what on Earth are you doing?"

Ted sighed with exaggerated patience. "Well, I was leaving the library since you obviously do not want my company, but -"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Stop beating around the bush."

"There's shrubbery in here? I hadn't noticed. Madam Pince is producing the books straight from the source now and bypassing the dodgy authors? How unique of her -" Potter shook him. It seemed he was quite the Crup when he wanted to be. Little and vicious.

"All right, all right. Unhand me, please." Potter released him, and Theodore straightened his robes, taking an unnecessary length of time to do so. "Right. So I was dared to talk to you. I did it. You even know why. Toodles!" Once again, he found his progress inhibited.

"Who dared you, Nott?"

"Keen to flatten Malfoy?"

"Wouldn't mind."

"Ah, but then they wouldn't consider you for Quidditch Captaincy!" Ted squeaked. This was turning out to be more dangerous than he had predicted. "Well, it wasn't Malfoy."

"Good. That's all I really wanted to know." Potter let him go again. Ted stayed where we was, expecting more questions. "What are you waiting for? Thought you were eager to leave!"

"I can go?"

"Yes."

"You're not going to stop me?"

"No."

Ted frowned. "Don't you want to know who it was? Why they selected that particular dare? What I usually do with my Friday nights? Who I usually do it with?"

"Not particularly. Disappear, Nott. I was trying to work until you interrupted."

"I said 'hi'! I wasn't aware that was a crime or that it even required a response!"

"You're not leaving," Potter observed in a tone that suggested Ted would soon be leaving whether he wanted to or not.

"Fine, fine, I'm going!" Ted threw up his hands and walked across the library, pretending to feel slighted. Opening one door, he glanced back across the room at Potter, who was still watching, and raised his eyebrows, gave the Gryffindor a cheeky grin, and slipped out into the corridor.

That didn't go too badly, Ted thought, fighting to push that grin off his face now he had initialised it. First contact had been established, and Potter had not even jinxed him into a Malfoy-slug. Which was especially good, since there was no dare, and thus no one to take the flak if Theodore copped it except himself. His father should be pleased about that, at least.

Ted honestly did not see why it had to be him. Just because Malfoy had blown it, why should the unfortunate soul be Theodore? There was Zabini. Or Crabbe. Goyle. Even one of the girls would do in a pinch. Someone from another year - seventh, fifth, first, anyone!

Why me?

Well, that successfully killed his grin. He was not doing this for fun. This was business. If it happened to be fun... But it was not fun, Ted reminded himself. This was not fun. Amusing, yes, but not fun.

"Theodore!"

He stopped at the unfamiliar female voice and turned to see Hermione Granger rushing up the hall after him. Nott's mind shifted mode. Opportunity knocks, methinks...

"Theodore, I saw you talking to Harry."

"Ted."

"What?"

"I would prefer to be called 'Ted' if you're going to address me informally. Otherwise, 'Nott' is acceptable."

Granger gazed at him like she was unsure what to make of this, but barged on nevertheless. "I know he was sort of rude - did you want something in particular?"

Sort of rude? He seized me bodily! "Oh, no, just thought we might have a chat. You know, everyone else seems to find him friendly enough..." Ted shrugged like it did not matter much one way or the other.

"Well, you're welcome to come study with me. I'm not working with Harry - I'm over with Susan Bones and Terry Boot, doing Runes. You want to join?"

Ted suddenly had the odd feeling he was the one being played here. "I don't know Susan."

"She's in Hufflepuff."

"Oh." A little of the eager light in Granger's eyes extinguished, and Ted realised what that must have sounded like - typical Slytherin prejudice. "No, no, that's all right. I don't have anything against Hufflepuffs. But I, er, I have something else I have to go do right now, and I haven't got my stuff or anything." He glanced away down the hall, feigning nervousness. If he could get Granger to try and befriend him, that would be quite a step in the right direction. She had considerable influence over Harry Potter; she might encourage him to be friendly with Theodore if she were.

"Oh...well, perhaps another time." She gave him a friendly smile before heading back to the library. Ted tried not to gloat too much as he made his way back down to the dungeons. He was going to succeed where Malfoy had failed.

*

"All right, you've got me all alone, now explain what you want, Slytherin," Ron Weasley grated, folding his arms and glaring down at Davis in the semi-darkness.

"Firstly, I would like Longbottom to return my wand. You realise how much you rely on it when you don't have it for an entire week.

"Secondly, I want you to agree to this scheme of mine so I don't have to end up on the wrong end on anyone else's wand. Particularly while unarmed."

"Could we possibly discuss this somewhere other than inside a broom closet?"

"No. Someone might see and think we're friendly or something. As for that matter -" Ron gasped as Davis ran her thumb over painted lips and touched her finger quickly to his neck. Ron drew back, and the mark smudged - just like Davis had planned. Ron might have been able to wash it off his skin, but he would not easily be able to remove lipstick from his white collar. The Slytherin smirked, examining her nails.

"Now, Weasley dear, everyone will assume this is a tryst, giving us the perfect cover if they do happen to see us sneaking around. Naturally, we wouldn't want such a relationship known - you, after all, are a Gryffindor."

"Excuse me, I already have one screwy relationship with a girl - I don't need two."

"Granger?" Davis waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about her. I'll deal with it. Her feelings for you won't change. But I want your word before I tell you any plans. And I want - insurance."

"Insurance?"

"I gave Longbottom my wand. You're giving me something, mister - I'm risking too much for this."

"It was your idea." Ron glared at her. This was a trick. A massive, strange, complicated trick, but it was a trick. He had only agreed (via scribbled notes that he assumed the Slytherins had had a good giggle over) to meet her to try to figure out what it was. What her real plan was. "And you'll get your wand back."

"Do you want people to die? Do you want me in Azkaban? Because that's where I'll end up if you don't help me. I don't have the will to stand up to him, Weasley. You do." She gazed up at him mournfully.

"Are you expecting pity? Because that bounced between threatening and pathetic, and the look really matches the latter."

Davis huffed at him. "Right, Weasley, down to business. You'll do it?"

What choice did he have? If she were telling the truth, unlikely and far-fetched though it was, he had to help her - he would save her life and possibly those of others. If she were lying, then he needed more information to figure out why. "Yeah, I suppose."

"I want a definite 'yes' or 'no', please."

"All right! Yes. I'll do it. Now kindly explain what 'it' is," Ron spat.

"I want you take over Slytherin house."

"Come again?" Ron could not have heard right. "You want me to do what?"

"Take over Slytherin house. You know - undermine Malfoy's rule, develop your own Slytherin-based clique, revamp our thinking: the usual."

"There is nothing usual about that, Davis. How do you expect me, a Gryffindor, to be able to do that?"

She ticked her points of on her fingers. "You're pure-blood. You've got guts and determination. You can take a knock - you proved that during last Quidditch season during the 'Weasley Is Our King' campaign. Eventually." She shook her head wryly. "Some people could conceivably find you attractive, a big bonus if you're going to challenge Malfoy, who is irrefutably gorgeous. And, most importantly (well, at least, I think so), you've got a head on your shoulders."

"Explain again why you can't do this."

"I'm female, therefore inferior."

"Ah."

"Also, I've spent five long years becoming invisible to the rest of the house. It handicaps me from taking the popular crowd by storm; I just don't register on their consciousnesses anymore - I'm not outgoing and I'm not attractive. It's easier for an outsider to do it. I would have preferred a Ravenclaw, but there were none suitable."

"What do you mean?"

"Ravenclaws tend to get along best with our house."

"No, about no one being suitable."

"They did not meet the criteria," Davis informed him unhelpfully with a shrug.

Ron scrubbed a hand through his hand through his hair. He had been wearing it a bit longer than was usual, and he was not yet sure if he liked it. Davis, apparently, found it acceptable. Some people could conceivably find you attractive... She was being quite clinical about all this. "What do I have to do first?"

She pointed at his collar. "We have already begun. And over the next week or so, you will be seen conversing with me in the hallways or in the grounds, as suits, in absence of your tails. They must not accompany you."

"Why not?"

"The point is that I don't die," Davis told him, rolling her eyes like that statement made the reason obvious. "Apart from that, don't do anything out of the ordinary."

"When are we going to do this? Should we set some times?"

The chubby girl smiled mysteriously. "Times will happen, Weasley; don't worry about that." She glided over to the door, opening it. "Let me deal with Granger. Just brush her off if she asks about the mark - don't say anything specific to anyone." Ron frowned but agreed. "Let at least one person see you in this area if you can. Try to be spotted skulking about. Toodles." She stepped outside, Ron following her. She turned back just once before she left. "Oh, and thanks. You really are saving me."

"No problem," Ron told her, feeling no less confused than when he had arrived. Her words would have been sincere except for the snide tone she had uttered them in, although he had the sneaking suspicion that she had practiced that to the point of permanency. They left in opposite directions, and Ron slowly made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, managing to be seen by a group of Ravenclaw girls before he was out of that wing. Davis must have known there would be people in this section at this time of night.

Harry and Hermione were jittery with each other when he arrived, sitting near the fire, completing Potions essays. Ron was glad to be well shot of that subject. He greeted them casually, and received in return a "Where've you been?" from Harry, which caused Hermione to glance up at him as he settled into his regular armchair.

"You've a funny mark on your collar, Ron -" and she licked her thumb, swiping at it and only smudging it further. He waited for it, tensed. Any second now, she would figure out what it was - and what then? What would she do? What would he do?

"What is that?" she wondered, rubbing her fingers together, taking in the waxy feel. He expected her face to change, but it remained perplexed. "What have you got on you, Ron?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "It's nothing, probably. I'll get it off later."

"What've you been up to?" Hermione pulled out a daintily flowered handkerchief and rubbed at the stain as Ron tried to fend her off, feeling more desperate with every passing second. He glanced at Harry for help, but his friend's expression was decidedly blank - and it hit him that, while Hermione would be seeing the mark against the bright light of the fire, Harry, on his other side, probably had quite a good view.

Hermione's breath caught as she held her cloth to the firelight. A moment later, she was smiling at him, saying a little forcedly, "Who is she, then, Ron? Who's the lucky girl?"

Ron's stomach curled up like a hedgehog and sank, ripping his intestines with its spines as it went. He had never felt this low. Harry was staring at him, expressionless, and Hermione...Hermione was actually waiting for an answer.

Don't say anything specific. "No one," Ron muttered, glancing away at the dark window.

"You can tell us, Ron," Harry said, sounding rather put out. "We won't make fun."

"It's nobody," Ron tried again. Please, please don't try to make me talk about this. I can't, I'm sorry, I haven't been kissing anyone, Hermione, there's nothing to tell you, Harry, or I would, I would.

"All right," Hermione announced, falsely cheerful. "Keep your secret lover, Ron; you don't have to tell us if you don't want."

"Yes, he does," argued Harry. "Ron, who is she?"

"No, he doesn't," Hermione disagreed firmly, still bright.

"I told you about Cho." Harry glared accusingly. The hedgehog turned sour and began attacking Ron's flesh, struggling to get out. In a minute, it would burst, and they would know everything he could not tell them.

"I have to go do my homework," he gasped, and fled up to the dormitory.

*

"Are you OK?" Harry asked as a door slammed in the distance. She did not answer, staring blankly through him, and Harry shifted to crouch by her armchair. Tentatively, he touched her sleeve. "Hermione? Are you all right?"

Numbly, she shook her head, and as much as Harry wanted to go up to the dorm and scold Ron stupid, he knew Hermione was more important right now. Awkwardly, he firmed his touch on her arm. Still she did not truly register that he was there. Harry wracked his brain. What was the correct thing to do? Uncertain, he stayed where he was, hand on Hermione's arm, his own forearm lightly brushing on top of her fingers that gripped the armchair tightly, as though if she gripped it tight enough, it would pull the scene out of her memory forever.

"What just happened?" she breathed in shaky disbelief.

"I think you and Ron broke up," he replied gently. Hermione began quivering slightly under his fingers.

"No. We weren't ever going out, so we couldn't have broken up. No, that is not what happened. Tell me what really happened, Harry. Tell me what really happened." Her tone was starting to wax desperate, and she seized his collar in her free hand, dragging him up towards her. Harry instinctively tried to pull away a little, but she would not allow him such freedom, yanking him closer until personal space no longer existed. "What happened, Harry?!"

"Hermione, calm down!" he managed, nearly being choked. "Please!"

With a noise like a sob, she dropped her hands. Harry reeled, his balance destroyed, and almost ended up in her lap. She looked suddenly little - the mature young woman he knew destroyed in an instant, and there was an unfamiliar unanchored aspect to her. Before Harry could move from in front of her, she flung herself on him, clinging, and sobbing like her heart had been wrenched out. Which, he supposed, it had.

"Hermione..." he said hopelessly, bracing her slight body gently as he tried to prevent a fall backwards that would end with his head against the table. She only cried louder in response. Awkwardly fitting one foot beneath him, Harry pushed up, heaving Hermione up to stand. She leaned heavily against him, and Harry was barely aware of making shushing noises as he angled her around to sit back down on the nearest couch, still hugging him intensely. Harry wished Ginny would appear, or even Parvati and Lavender - he had no idea what to do in this situation.

Eventually Hermione cried herself out. "Thanks, Harry," she told him miserably, leaning against him in her exhaustion. "I - I know I was being silly; you don't have to tell me."

"You're not being silly," he replied softly, praying that was the right thing to say.

"It's not like we ever had a relationship. I just thought... And I didn't realise how much things must have changed over the summer..."

"I thought so, too," Harry said grimly. How could Ron have done this to his friend? Harry had been so convinced they had liked each other for ages, even if neither had admitted it to him, and it seemed Hermione had been certain, too. And now Ron waltzed into the common room with lipstick on his collar, only to tell them - tell Hermione - it was 'nothing'. His anger began to return.

"Oh, Harry, what do I do? Who do you think she is?" she wailed, and Harry watched her blotchy face as tears built anew. "Who is she that he couldn't even tell me?"

Harry stared at her helplessly, venturing a careful shrug. Hermione nodded fiercely, as if he had offered something profound. "He should have at least told me who. I mean we're friends at least. You should be able to tell you friends everything. Don't you think?"

"Er," said Harry.

"Well, maybe not everything, but nearly so. Something as trivial as this." Trivial? Trivial makes you cry like this? "It's just a girlfriend. Or maybe not even that. I think, tomorrow, I'll tell him exactly what I think of him keeping secrets. You were right, Harry. He should have told us. You told us about Cho."

You didn't tell us about Viktor Krum.

"It's not like it's important. Anyway, I have homework to finish." Hermione abruptly shoved Harry's arms away, walking over to gather her things, her back straight, and her mouth set determinedly. "You should do some more, too, Harry. You don't want to fall behind."

Bewildered, he kept his seat on the couch as Hermione strode up the stairs, business-like once more. And, for the first time, Harry realised just how much of a front that was. The thought made him realise that perhaps he did not know Hermione as well as he thought he did.

*

The curtains on Ron's bed ripped open, and, after a bit of struggling with the drapes, a very angry Harry appeared in the gap. "What on Earth did you think you were doing down there?" he growled, quiet so as not to wake the others.

Ron remained as he had been since he entered the dorm: flat on his back, still fully-clothed, hands folded behind his head. "Nothing," he told Harry casually. He had already decided that, when Harry inevitably came to yell at him, indifference would be the best wall to block his enquiries.

"Get real! That was not nothing, Ron - you broke Hermione's heart, and you knew what you were doing when you did it!"

"What do you expect me to do about it now?" Ron waved a hand vacantly. "There's no point in having a go at me, Harry. It's done. She'll get over it. It's not like we were dating."

"No, it isn't, but -" Harry broke off, apparently unsure what the 'but' was. Ron's façade broke under the repeated stress, and he was suddenly angry with Harry, angry for not being able to tell him, angry for him being so nosy. Harry was bringing this all on himself, really.

"Exactly. It isn't. Now, if you don't mind, I was trying to go to sleep."

"In your school clothes?" Harry demanded scornfully. "With your shoes still on? At least come up with a decent lie, Ron."

"Fine. I was lying here, doing precisely nothing."

"I'm sick of your nothings, Ron."

"Drop dead, Harry." Ron distinctly heard Seamus gasp, and Neville shushed him. He ignored their audience. "This isn't any of you business, and it still won't be tomorrow, or next week, or the week after that. I sort of expected you'd be pleased. You've liked her, haven't you? You can have a go now, not that I ever got one. So just butt out of my business for a change, would you? You got what you wanted."

Harry told Ron to do something that made Dean scold him and Seamus tell Dean to be quiet, apparently enjoying the show.

"Get lost, Potter."

Harry's eyes flashed murderously, but he obediently stomped off to his own bed, leaving Ron to his tumultuous thoughts. It really was none of Harry's business. Was Ron never allowed to do anything that was his and his alone?

*

Hermione was still wandering around in a carefully covered-up daze a week later when Terry shoved a pink flyer into her hand. "What's this?" she asked blankly.

"Hogwarts-wide chess tournament. Anyone can enter. I think this might set our little plan back a bit."

"Oh, dear," said Hermione. "What a perfect way to raise competitiveness amongst the students. Who dreamed this up?"

"The credit seems to be going to Professor Snape. He's organising and moderating - look," Terry poked the bottom of the flyer, "says here that the winner gets a basket of Honeydukes goodies and 100 house points. Runner-up gets fifty, and 25 for third, twenty for fourth. I bet the basket's not coming out of Snape's own pocket."

"Oh," replied Hermione, absently tucking the flyer into her bag. "I suppose we should find Susan, then."

"Didn't you know about this? Aren't you a prefect?"

"I think I might have known, actually." She remembered something vaguely in last Friday's meeting. The altercation with Ron had driven it out of her head. She followed Terry as he went down the hall, ranting on about her not telling him earlier.

"- I mean if I had known, I would have been able to have concocted some sort of strategy, but -"

"Uh huh..." And there he was, strolling down the hall, chatting and laughing, with -

Wait. With a Slytherin?

Oh, no. She is not the one. Ron, please tell me she is not the one. Look at her. Look at her green tie. She's laughing at your joke. Oh, no, she's touching you on the arm - get your paws off him, you horrible little - little Slytherin! What does he see in you? I'm heaps prettier than you! You - you're podgy, and your eyes just about disappear when you're cackling away, and I've seen you hanging around with Pansy; oh, Ron, please tell me she's not the girl! What does she have that I don't?

Hermione and Ron had exchanged polite conversation during the week. It had been a little forced, but they were both trying - which was more than Hermione could say for Harry. She had not been made privy to the details, but she sensed Harry might have had a sizeable go at Ron last Friday night after she had gone to bed. And a terrible feeling in her stomach informed her that it was her fault - she must have given Harry reason to do so.

The events of last Friday were more than a little hazy in Hermione's mind, which was unsettling in itself, and she could not quite remember what she had said to Harry, although she remembered crying all over him. To her, Harry had been the perfect gentleman; to Ron, he had been a snarling git at best. She had observed that Seamus, Dean and Neville all seemed to be slightly frosty with Ron, too.

Really, it was all a bit of an overreaction, just like hers. Ron could have a girlfriend. He was allowed. In fact, they had no say over whether he was allowed or not. The only thing to do was to be supportive.

Maybe Harry just needed to have a good cry.

Terry, understandably, was rather annoyed when she hairpinned back around to fall into step with Ron and the Slytherin girl without so much as saying "Bye".

"Hi, Ron," she greeted him brightly. "And hello, uh - Tracey?"

The shorter girl's expression went briefly to surprise and then open welcome. "Oh, hello, Hermione! I've been wanting to catch up with you. Do you think we might talk in private?" To Ron, she instructed, "You go on, I'll catch up with you." Presuming little so-and-so -

"Right, Trace," he agreed amiably, and did not so much as spare Hermione a glance as Tracey dragged her off in the opposite direction - back into Terry.

"What're you doing, Hermione?" he demanded. "We were having a conversation!"

"Shove off, Boot, this is important," the Slytherin snapped past a baffled Hermione.

She shrugged back at Terry, calling, "You tell Susan! I'll talk to you later!" Terry glared sourly until Hermione turned back around.

"What is it, Davis?" she hissed. The other girl's niceness had vanished with Ron - so could Hermione's.

"We need to talk." They halted just around a drinking fountain, out of the main flow of students. "Look, we both know you like Ron, but I think we need to come to an agreement."

"OK, how about : you stay far away from him?" Hermione growled. The Slytherin flashed her a nasty smile.

"Possessive, are we? Hmm. That might make things awkward - considering I don't want your precious Weasley that way. I wouldn't set my sights so low."

The irrational part of Hermione prompted her to say, "You shouldn't set you sights that high."

Tracey arched her eyebrows. "I might just take you up on that challenge, missy. But not right now. No, I promise to stay away from your Ron - if, and only if, you do the same."

"No way. He's my friend, and, besides, I would never trust a promise from a Slytherin."

"Oooh, and I heard the most interesting story about how open-minded you were from Nott," the girl cooed falsely. "No, you listen to me, Mudblood: you stay away from him. Your presence is not wanted. If I am accompanying him, you will not. And you'll keep your blasted Golden Boy under control, too."

"What makes you think I have any control over Harry?"

Tracey laughed shortly. "Not very good at this, are you?"

"Not very good at what, Davis? Tolerating B.S.?"

"Tough girl, aren't you? Abbreviating such naughty language. I should wash you mouth out with soap, but right now I don't have time. I'll put it on my list for later." Tracey batted her eyelashes before disappearing into the crowd.

Hermione leaned against the wall, letting the noise wash over her as the world expanded beyond a single Slytherin. Her whole body was trembling, trying to alleviate the tension, and the fingers of her right hand ached. She looked down. When had she drawn her wand? A few deep breaths later, she pushed off the stone, deciding it was time to catch up with Terry and Susan. They had a chess tournament to - well, do something about.

*

Theodore Nott trailed along, listening with half an ear to Malfoy rant on about his latest irritation as his attention was mostly drawn to two girls talking in the hallway. The moment he had spotted them, he had expected Malfoy to notice and fly into one of his customary rages about it, but so far there had been no reaction. Ted was kept waiting.

An interesting pair - a nearly invisible Slytherin sixth-year and a Gryffindor prefect. Davis was absently twirling her wand between stubby fingers, blocking Granger's path out of the alcove. Ted's position did not afford him the necessary view, but he reckoned Granger would have had her wand drawn, too.

They were shuffled along in the crowd. Ted and Blaise never got elbowed; a path cleared for Malfoy, and, if it had not, then Crabbe and Goyle could easily make one. So it caught his attention when someone's appendage contacted with his arm. He glanced sharply left. Zabini nodded in the direction of the girls. "Yeah, I see them," Ted said grimly.

"We'll have to pick Davis up in pieces if she tries anything," Blaise hissed, careful to keep his voice below Malfoy's. "You really talk to Granger last week?"

"After that Potter dare," Ted agreed easily.

"She as nice close up?" Theodore's mind suddenly flicked onto what Zabini was talking about, and Malfoy vanished from his thoughts completely.

"What! She's a Mudblood," he replied with the proper amount of scorn.

"Doesn't mean she's not hot." Ted stayed silent, wary. Zabini might be trying to get him in trouble. The Watchdogs were close enough to hear; other people might think Greg and Vince thick, but Ted knew better. Crabbe might be instinctively violent at times, but Greg had a shrewd mind. "Better than we've got."

"Daphne's all right. And Pansy -"

"- is thoroughly owned," Blaise finished. "And has a face like she has a bulldog in her line. And Daphne hasn't got assets worth investing in." What was Zabini playing at? It was damn foolish, talking about whether or not Granger was attractive with Malfoy about three feet away. He had ears for this sort of talk. True, it would only change the topic of conversation - Malfoy only ever listened to himself and his imprisoned father anyway - but on the off-chance he did listen... "Seriously, though, if she's interested, my advice is take what's offered and leave it for damned."

"It wasn't that sort of conversation."

Blaise slung a comradely arm around his shoulders. Ted shrugged it off irritably, but the other boy was undaunted, much used to Theodore's reticence. "It's always that sort of conversation. She's not getting it from Pothead or the Weasel, so I'd wager she's itching right about now."

"Do you have a Muggle in your line, Zabini?" Ted demanded heatedly. "You're being that stupid. If you want to lay Granger, Potter, and Weasley all at the same time, go for it, but don't try to tangle me in your sordid little thoughts."

"What was that about laying Potter?" Draco asked, turning around to give them a suspicious look past the bulk of Crabbe and Goyle, who ambled along as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring. Blaise glared daggers at Theodore - he must have been quite loud to impact on the Monologue.

"Nothing, Malfoy. Blaise here was just commenting on how Potter's not laying Granger - check her out." Ted pointed back down the hall, always eager to have Malfoy looking in a direction where he was not, but Granger had vanished. "Oh, well, she was there, and looking rather hot and bothered." Malfoy's face turned into a pout - most likely, he was disappointed about missing a Mudblood-baiting opportunity - and he turned back around, now blathering on about how Mudblood Granger had beat him by a mere three percent in Arithmancy last year. Ted tuned out, turned back to Blaise, and surreptitiously tripped him up the first chance he got.

*

Terry found Susan in a courtyard, sharing biscuits with Justin and Hannah. Terry stole one, bit into it, and swallowed, feeling distinctly unimpressed with the result of his theft.

"What is that?" he complained, waving the rest of the cookie around.

"It's an ANZAC biscuit. My penfriend in Oz sent me the recipe."

"I don't think you made it right. It's disgusting."

Susan looked flustered. "Well, it was only my fourth attempt at making them. I guess they still could use a little improvement."

"A little? They're like rocks! Make a bigger one - we can use it to play Frisbee."

"Did nobody ever teach you tact, Terrence Boot?" Hannah scolded.

"Maybe they're meant to be like that. I like them," Justin proclaimed. "They're good, Suse."

"That proves it," Susan groaned, putting her head in her hands. "Justin eats anything. I'm a terrible cook."

Hannah made consoling noises, then glared at Terry. "Did you want anything in particular, or did you just hear bad biscuits were being handed out and come to make fun?" Susan issued another wail.

"No, no, I came for a reason," he assured her. "And it's just 'Terry', actually. Not short for anything. But, that is beside the point. Susan, can I borrow you for a moment?"

"No," she said miserably, but left the biscuits to Justin and walked with him a little distance away. Hannah watched them intently, and, when Susan's back was turned, carefully removed a large piece of biscuit from her mouth and put it in the bin. Justin ate the rest of the one in Hannah's hand, licking his fingers joyfully.

"Right, I think Hermione's gone around the twist."

"Huh?"

"She's given up on Nott, from all appearances. Instead, she has Ron hanging out with, um, actually, I don't know her name. Short, dumpy, round face with a few greyish freckles?"

"I have no idea, and it probably doesn't matter. Did she look friendly?"

"Yes, she did while she was talking to Hermione, but then she had a right go at me."

"Why Ron, I wonder?" Susan mused. "He's not exactly the most equable person, is he? She never said anything about Harry and Ron getting involved. Are you sure it wasn't coincidence?"

"Yes," he said impatiently. "I don't think the new girl's important - what's she doing about Nott? She said he was fairly positive about the offer to study with us." After a moment's thought, Terry produced another of the flyers that Anthony had asked him to distribute from his pocket, giving it to Susan. "And what do you think about this?"

"As if we needed any more competitiveness."

"That's what I thought, and Hermione agrees. Any ideas what we can do?"

Susan shrugged pragmatically. "We could enter it and win."

"You say that like it would be easy."

"Well, if we sign up at the right times, we could end up so we wouldn't play each other until the finals, and then it's just a matter of jinxing the pieces for us to win."

"Susan, you deviant. You want to cheat?"

"I like to call it a slight perturbation of the odds."

"You want to cheat. Freakin' Flamin' Flobberworms, a Hufflepuff wants to cheat."

"Get over it, Terry. And stop saying that word. Someone might hear," she cautioned, still looking very calm about all this. "Can we charm the opposition's pieces? I mean we would need to rig all the matches, not just ours. And get on the committee that works out who plays who and when. You'll have to do that - Snape won't tolerate a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor on it. Hermione and I can work out how to fix the pieces. Or fix the boards. Whatever."

"Hermione won't go along with this. She's a stiff."

Susan gave him a disgusted look. "How little you know, Mr Boot," she told him dryly. "Not very observant, are you. I had expected better of a Ravenclaw."

"I'm smart, not clever. Not like you. Susan, what an idea!"

"Well, it will help," she pointed out. "We're not going to get all hung up in house rivalry, are we? Not if we're aware of what we're doing. So, if we lead the houses...but again, we need a Slytherin. Hmm. And I think it should be Hufflepuff versus Slytherin in the final match - not personal, you understand." Terry nodded; he did. Hufflepuffs were generally less competitive than Ravenclaws, and much less inclined to hype than Gryffindors. A Slytherin versus Gryffindor match in the finals would be asking for bloodshed. And if Gryffindor were in the final play-off, Slytherin would never unite; competition between the two houses would be ultimately high, between chess and Quidditch.

Rather than answer her, Terry asked, "Have you any particular ability for chess?"

"No," she admitted.

"I'm hopeless."

"Uh-oh. I hope Hermione can play."

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