Love in Three Easy Steps: An Extensively Researched Project by Draco Malfoy

[Author's Notes: I wrote this fic years ago, but I read it over recently and it made me smile. So I decided to put it online. Hope you enjoy!]

Love in Three Easy Steps

An Extensively Researched Project by Draco Malfoy

Part One: The Slytherins

---

Draco didn't think of himself as the sort to sit in class and think about love.

Of course, it wasn't as if he were actually in love. He shuddered at the thought. As if that could ever happen. No, it was simply this: he did not understand love.

This fact was brought to his attention by his ex-girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, whom he had broken up with the day before. To his total horror and bewilderment, Pansy had burst into messy tears.

"But I don't get it," he had said over and over. "Why on earth are you so upset?"

"Draco Malfoy," she had spat, pointing a quivering finger at him accusingly, "you do not know what love is!" Then she had run off, sobbing, into the girls' dormitory.

Didn't he, though? Surely he did. Why, everyone knew what love was. It was...

It was that thing that girls used as an excuse to burst into tears and hate you for the rest of your life.

Satisfied with this explanation, Draco allowed his attention to turn back to the lesson, but was soon distracted again. He found himself watching Finnigan and Brown. Finnigan was blowing kisses at Brown and smirking at her from across the room, making her giggle. And they kept sending each other notes. Draco tried to read them as they whizzed past him every time Professor McGonagall turned her back, but all he could make out were the little hearts doodled all over them. At one point, Lavender carefully inked her lips and pressed them to the parchment, cleaning them with a muttered "Scourgify!" before McGonagall noticed.

Lavender Brown did not seem as though she was preparing to burst into tears and hate Seamus Finnigan for the rest of his life.

All right, then, fine. Love wasn't only that. It was also... it... love was...

He really didn't know.

How strange. He honestly did not know what love was. It was, he knew, something that made you act strangely, that made you look stupid, that made you no longer independent, an entirely troublesome thing, and yet people seemed to enjoy it; they even seemed to want it.

This was certainly a mystery.

Well, that settled it, then. Mysteries were meant to be solved.

---

He decided that he would ask girls, because they seemed to be the ones who were always waving love about in people's faces. Boys seemed more preoccupied with explosives--games of Exploding Snap, Filibuster fireworks, that sort of thing--at least according to his observations, and he had been observing all day. He had pages and pages of field notes (highlighted, even) on the various Hogwarts couples: Brown and Finnigan, Weasley and Granger, Thomas and Finnigan, Longbottom and Abbott, Zabini and Finnigan... the list went on and on. He had witnessed everything from cuddles and kisses to fights and breakups to arrangements to meet up in Astronomy Tower for activities that, thankfully, Draco had not seen taking place in the classrooms or halls.

And in all of his notes, it was always the female (well, if the couple included one) who seemed more excited about the actual concept of love. It wasn't always the female who made the first move, but she was the one who raced to tell her friends, who always initiated an exchange of "I love you" and "I love you too". Girls not in relationships glared at the ones who were with a burning hatred usually reserved for people who had killed off a family member or two, and the others smirked back with a smug smile that seemed to convey that they were happy and satisfied, not to mention far superior, because they had love.

If there was anyone who could solve the mystery of what love was (and why girls were so fond of it), it would be one of these odd creatures who seemed to worship the thing.

Having decided this, Draco glanced down at the to-do list he had made. Well, it wasn't so much of a to-do list as a Plan of Action:

What Is Love? How To Find Out!

1. Observe couples in love (take notes)

2. Determine, based on data collected, what to do next

Well. That didn't help very much. He scratched out number two and quickly scribbled out a new Plan of Action:

2. Find as many girls as possible

3. Ask them what love is (record answers)

He looked it over once more and, after a moment's thought, attacked the parchment with his quill once again:

What Is Love? How To Find Out! (in three easy steps)

Satisfied, he carefully folded the Plan and slipped it into his pocket. He was ready.

Now, he just had to find girls.

---

He knew that the selection of girls had to be diverse in order for him to get accurate results. So the girls would have to be from all different Houses. A representative or two from each house, that was fair. And then he could sort of mix the answers he got and maybe divide them, get an average. There had to be some way of getting the average of words.

He would start with Slytherin House.

Okay, so it was a cop-out. But really, it made sense. The people in Slytherin understood him the best, and chances were they would know how to explain it to him.

So which girl should he go to? Not Pansy. Definitely not Pansy. He paused and thought. He didn't really know many of the girls. It had to be either Pansy or--

Or Millicent.

Draco shuddered delicately and quickly rejected the thought. Not Millicent. Anyone but Millicent. Surely he knew other girls. There were plenty of girls in Slytherin House! Girls other than Pansy and Millicent! Why, there was...

With a jolt of cold horror Draco realized that, though there may have been many more girls in Slytherin House, he didn't know them.

It would have to be Millicent. She repulsed him and terrified him, but he would have to ask her. After all, the answer of a girl like Millicent would be important to factor into the end result. He was sure it would be unusual. And he wanted to get accurate results for this, didn't he?

Of course he did. He resolved to make arrangements to meet with Millicent as soon as possible.

---

"Millie," Draco said, rubbing his aching forehead, "for the last time, I did not ask you to meet me here so I could shag you. Really. Put your clothes back on, please."

"Oh, but Draco," Millicent purred (at least he assumed she was meant to be purring), "we're all alone, and we have so much time before Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the lakeside is such a romantic place..."

"No, honestly, Millie, please," Draco begged. "I just need to ask you something, look here, I've found your shirt now, just slip it over your head, it's not hard."

"You want to ask me something?" Millicent said rapturously, her voice slightly muffled by the shirt currently covering her head. Her head popped out, grinning in a frightening way that Draco supposed was meant to be sultry and seductive. "Oh, Dray, I always knew you loved me, but honestly, don't you think we're a little bit young for that? Then again, I'm not opposed to anything that includes a diamond ring..."

Draco groaned inwardly. "No," he explained, "I'm not proposing. Honestly. Just listen, all right? And... don't call me Dray."

"Fine," Millicent said, pouting. "What do you want to ask?"

Draco took a deep breath. "Don't take this the wrong way, Millie, please don't. It has nothing to do with you."

"Okay."

"Millicent..." He licked his lips nervously. "What, exactly is love?"

"Is that all?" Millicent said, batting her eyelashes. "That's easy, Drakie baby. Love is a man and a woman."

There was a pause.

"That's it?" Draco said finally. " 'Love is a man and a woman'? That's all?"

"Well, no," Millicent said, sounding cross. "I wasn't done yet."

Draco waited.

"Love," Millicent said dramatically, "is a man and woman ecstatically writhing."

"What!?" Draco exclaimed. "You have to be kidding me. There has to be more to it than that. I mean, what if it's two men? Or two women?" It was the natural thing to wonder, what with Finnigan and Boot snogging passionately a few yards away.

"All right, two people ecstatically writhing then," Millicent said, making a vague hand gesture. "Whatever. Anyway, that's love."

"But--but--" Draco could still not wrap his mind around it. "But that would mean that love was the same thing as sex, and we all know that's not true..." He trailed off. Millicent was looking at him blankly, and he slowly realized that, to Millie, love was the same thing as sex. And she had thought he had asked her here to have sex... which meant that she had thought... thought that he...

Feeling slightly sick, Draco pulled out his notepad and quickly jotted down Millicent's Name, House and Response to Question on one of the forms he'd made.

"Right then," he said shakily. "I'll just be going."

He ran.

---

"So, Malfoy," Zabini began, whipping open the curtain around Draco's bed.

Draco quickly shoved the pages of notes he'd been studying under the covers. "What is it, Zabini?" he said aggressively, flushing pink.

"Just tell me straight--are you with Millicent Bulstrode?" Zabini said in a disgusted tone. "Because, honestly, I'm happy for you, but you could do better. As in, even Dennis Creevey would be better. You could shag him."

"I'm not with Millicent!" Draco exclaimed, horrified. "Why on earth would you think I'm with Millicent?"

"Oh, come on. Down by the lake? Did you really think you wouldn't be seen? And you have that whole Millie-Drakie business going on..." Zabini's fingers defined a few obscenities as he smirked.

"Not what it looked like," Draco said faintly. "I swear, Zabini."

"Oh, sure." Zabini rolled his eyes. "And Seamus and Boot were just checking each other's mouths for illegal drugs. To make sure that neither of them would get expelled. On the off-chance that they'd actually had any, and the teachers had decided to snog them." He paused. "Know what, that's a bit weak. Sorry. It should have been something like 'Seamus and Boot were just testing a new sort of lip-glue'."

"Really, Zabini, Millicent and I--wait." He blinked. "You saw Boot and Finnigan? Are you... I mean, that's okay with you?"

Zabini shrugged. "I was spying on him to see if he was cheating on me, and turns out he was. I'm actually glad. Now I don't have to feel guilty for sleeping with Smith."

"Zabini," Draco said carefully, "Finnigan is cheating on the entire school."

"Is he?" Zabini cocked his head to one side. "Oh, good. Now I don't have to feel guilty about sleeping with Corner, Bones or Bell either."

Draco shook his head in annoyance. Why was it, he wondered, that entirely unattractive people like Finnigan and Zabini got so much sex, while he, a sex god in his own right, did not? It was in no way fair.

"Anyway," Zabini said pointedly, "what about you and your Millie-poo, eh?"

"Oh, God."

"That bad of a shag, is she?" Zabini's tone was pitying and rather patronizing, and Draco did not like it in the least.

"Look." He shut his eyes. "There is a perfectly good reason for why Millicent and I were out by the lake, and why she was half-naked."

"Oh, and what's that?" Zabini inquired.

Draco told him.

Zabini laughed.

Not only did he laugh, though, he laughed and laughed and laughed and collapsed on a chair and giggled and snorted and laughed.

"It's not that funny," Draco grumbled, but, "Oh, it is," Zabini insisted before collapsing again.

When he had finally composed himself, he asked what Millicent's answer had been. Draco pulled his notes from underneath the covers and fished out the parchment with his chart on it, though he didn't need to. He knew it by heart.

"Love," he said in a sighing sort of way, "is two people ecstatically writhing."

Zabini stared. "Is that it?"

"Yes."

"I do hope you're not taking that seriously," Zabini seemed horrified at the thought. "My God, that's so inaccurate it's not even funny."

Draco wanted to make a sarcastic comment about Zabini at last finding something to not be funny, but he found he was too tired to properly think it out.

"All right, what would you say love is?" he snapped.

Zabini frowned and looked at the ceiling. "Love..." he began falteringly. "Love is when two people are--irresistably drawn to one another, but not just to the point where they want to have sex; that's lust. Love is when they're drawn to each other because of the small quirks, the nervous habits... everything, and it's more sentimental than lust, because when you're in love you want to make the object of your affections feel gushy and stupid like that." He stopped. "There's more to it, but it's hard to describe."

Draco gaped at him. "Do you mind if I write that down?" he said, taking out a fresh sheet of parchment.

"Go ahead," Zabini replied. "And now I have to go."

"Why?" Draco wanted to know.

"I have a rendezvous with Finnigan. G'bye, Malfoy."

Zabini turned and began to walk away. Draco looked back down at his notes and found himself re-reading the boy's short speech.

"Zabini?" he called out, halting him.

"Yes?" Zabini answered, turning.

"Are you--you're definitely--I mean, you're not a--a woman, are you?"

Zabini's face hardened. "Look you can't tell anyone what I'm about to say to you, Malfoy--"

"You are?!" Draco boggled.

"Well, I was. But not anymore. Promise you won't tell anyone. Promise."

"Okay, I promise," Draco said vaguely, still in shock.

Zabini left. Draco stared after him.

Good enough, he decided, and began to mark Zabini down on his chart.

---

Part Two: The Ravenclaws

---

Millie and Zabini made two girls from Slytherin, so in order to be fair Draco needed two girls from Ravenclaw too (for it was Ravenclaw he'd decided to interrogate next). Unfortunately, he only knew one Ravenclaw girl, and only she because he'd seen her with Bloody Harry Potter.

Really, the amount of females he was acquainted with was pitiful. It was no wonder he didn't know what love was.

He'd have to ask for girl recommendations, he decided.

He caught up with Cho Chang on the Quidditch field.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she hissed at him.

"I just want you to answer one question," Draco said quickly, "and then give me the name of another Ravenclaw girl I could ask."

"Okay," Chang said suspiciously. "I'm not agreeing to anything, but... what's the question?"

"What is love?" Draco burst out, before he could lose his nerve. Chang scared him. Chang really scared him. She was so... unpredictable.

"Love?" Chang was surprised.

"Yes. I'm doing research see, and--"

Chang's eyes began to well up. "You're asking me because of Cedric, right?"

"No, I'm asking you because I need a Ravenclaw and you're the only--"

"Look, I don't want to talk about Cedric, okay?" She sniffled. "So I'd appreciate it if everyone would just stop talking about it. Cedric wouldn't have wanted--he was so humble and modest, and handsome, and kind, and perfect..." She burst into sobs.

"Oh, God. Chang..."

"Don't talk to me, Malfoy! You're so insensitive! I hate you!"

"No, wait--"

But it was too late. She was gone.

Darn it. Now what was Draco going to do?

He turned around and started walking dejectedly back towards the school. Chang was out, then. And his fears had been confirmed. She was psycho. Damn it all.

Well, he supposed anyone would be a bit barmy after going out with Potter.

He spotted Pansy nearby and called out to her, waving. She shot him a venemous glare and ran in the opposite direction.

He sighed heavily. It didn't look like life was getting any better.

---

But the great Draco Malfoy's spirits would not be squashed! He mustn't let himself become depressed and pessimistic! He had Ravenclaws to accost! And accost them he would! No matter what, if he just kept his spirits up, he could not fail! He would succeed!

He repeated this to himself as he fearfully shuffled towards the Ravenclaw table, but he couldn't make himself believe it. They were going to murder him.

"Er, hello," he said tentatively. The Ravenclaws ignored him.

He cleared his throat. "Erm. Excuse me?"

A few looked over at him and laughed, but then they continued to chatter.

Okay. Time to try a different approach.

There was only one girl who wasn't talking to someone else. She was blonde and light and floaty, and instead of talking she was staring with wide, fascinated eyes at... well, as far as Draco, could tell, at her sleeve. Hmm.

He walked over to her.

"Hallo," he said, trying to sound friendly and nonthreatening.

Without blinking, she turned her concentrated gaze on Draco's face. He thought that now was a good time to be decidedly unnerved.

"Right," he said, thinking very hard about keeping spirits up and not failing, "you're a girl. And you're in Ravenclaw. So, er, I need to ask you something. It's something I'm asking a lot of people--I'm sort of taking a survey--"

"Did you know that most surveys are completely false?" the blonde floaty girl said, her voice soft and intense. "They don't even bother asking people anymore. They just make up figures to scare us, so they can manipulate us and use us to--"

"That's very interesting," Draco told her. "So can I ask you the question?"

"I don't know," she said, sounding mildly shocked. "Can you? Has the Ministry placed a Speech Restrictor in your food? Because they do that, you know, if you've seen things you shouldn't have, like--"

"The question," Draco announced, interrupting her, "is 'what is love'?"

"Love is a deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness."

Draco stared. "Oh," he managed finally.

She smiled.

"Can you... repeat that, so I can write it down?"

She did.

"Er, thanks. I think."

"You're very welcome," she nodded.

He walked away quickly, very relieved to have gotten away from her caught-in-headlights stare. Then as the longing for escape faded, he realized that he was walking in the wrong direction, that he still needed to talk to another Ravenclaw girl.

Why, why, why couldn't he have just kept Zabini's answer and scratched out Millie's? Why? This business of finding two girls from each house was unbearable. Bloody girls. Draco hated girls, anyway. That was why he didn't know any. Because they were all smirky and giggly and lovey. Disgusting.

All right, he'd have to look for the most sensible-looking girl. This was Ravenclaw, after all, there had to be some sensible girl somewhere.

He spotted a decent-looking one and, inwardly sighing, walked over.

"Hallo."

She looked up and laughed.

Oh, how Draco hated love.

"Hi," she said finally, smiling amusedly.

"I--I'm doing a bit of research, and I was wondering if I could ask you a question?" His voice had squeaked a bit there on "question". He'd have to watch out for that.

"Sure!" she said. Well, that wasn't too hard.

"Well, first--what's your name?" He had his chart out now, and realized that his name space for the last girl was blank, too. He'd been too scared of her to ask her that.

"Penelope Clearwater," the girl said.

"And--what would you say love is?"

"Love, huh?" She tilted her head to one side. "Love is when you have to depend on someone else for your happiness."

She was smirking. She wasn't taking it seriously. Oh, well. He jotted down her answer anyway. It was the first straightforward one he'd gotten yet.

"Oh, also"--he discreetly gestured towardes the wafty girl--"what's her name?"

"Loony Lovegood," Penelope Clearwater told him. He wrote that down, too.

"Thank you," he said, and began the long trek back to the Slytherin table.

He hadn't realized, when he started this, how incredibly embarrassing it was to ask people about love. It was very hard to mention love without getting laughter as a response. Frankly, he didn't think that understanding love was worth the grief... but he'd already made a Plan of Action, so he had to finish the task, or else the List Gods would be displeased. And he'd be willing to bet that after he'd done this much, it would take at least three essays to get back into their favor, and probably a few dioramas.

Occasionally, people told Draco that he had some odd ideas about religion, but he knew they were just jealous of his piety.

---

Part Three: The Hufflepuffs

---

After sleeping on the problem, Draco had come up with a solution. Well, not after actually sleeping on the problem. That would probably require stuffing his pillow with his highlighted notes, several bad romance novels and a good deal of old, black-and-white Muggle movies. And probably Pansy. And Finnigan. Definitely Finnigan.

Anyway, though he hadn't actually slept on the problem (and he hopefully never would, because the thought of sleeping on top of Pansy and Finnigan was revolting) he had at least slept as he thought about it. And he had come up with a solution.

It was a suitable devilish solution, too, one which (he hoped) would re-solidify his reputation as an Evil Nasty Slytherin, and keep people from thinking that he was soppy and love-obsessed.

That thought of, he went off to put his plan into action.

---

"Psst! Finch-Fletchly!"

The blonde, jockish-looking Mudblood in question looked around in confusion, clearly doubting his own ears.

"I'm over here! Turn around very slowly and don't say anything!"

Finch-Fletchly's features creased into something between worry and bewilderment. Draco supposed that this was what happened when Finch-Fletchly had to think about something.

"Just do as I say!"

Finch-Fletchly slowly turned. "Mal--?"

"Don't say it!" Draco hissed from his very conspicuous perch on top of the bookshelves. "Listen, I'm going to ask you something. And you're going to answer me honestly. Okay? Otherwise I'll--I'll--" Damn, he hadn't thought that far yet. "I'll tell eveyone about that incident when you were alone in the greenhouse with the diluted bubotuber pus."

Finch-Fletchly turned white, and Draco cheered inwardly. He had been completely guessing, but he supposed that, at some point in his life, every young wizard had experimented alone in the greenhouse with diluted bubotuber pus.

"What do you want to know?" Finch-Fletchly whispered, looking around nervously to see if there were any of his fellow badger-lovers about.

"You know Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones, right?" Draco said, leaning down.

"Ye-es," Finch-Fletchly said nervously. "What about them?"

"Okay." Draco paused, wording his next question carefully. "What is more important to them than anything else in the world?"

"Er?" Finch-Fletchly swallowed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on, Finch-Fletchly. It's not that hard of a question."

The Hufflepuff was growing more flustered by the second. "I-I'm not sure. I mean, I don't really know them that well...? Maybe?"

"Well, it's obvious why you're not in Ravenclaw," Draco said snottily. "Just tell me something important to them!"

"Um... their homework?" By this point, Finch-Fletchly looked to be near tears. Draco decided to let him off the hook.

"Good enough. You may go. And remember, don't tell anyone you saw me!"

Looking slightly confused but mostly relieved, Finch-Fletchly gathered up his books and practically ran out. Draco climbed down from the bookshelves to the delightful sound of Madam Pince screaming over stolen library books. Oh, yes. Once Finch-Fletchly was expelled and Draco's plan put into action, he would be a very Evil Nasty Slytherin indeed.

---

If yOu WAnt tO see youR HOMEwork again , wRite DOWN youR definITiON of Love & leAve IT ouTside the SlyTHErIN dOrms.

$inc3rely,

An eVil naSTy slythErin

Draco peered around the corner, eyes fixed firmly on the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room, which was a tapestry of Homobonus the Peaceful.

How typically Hufflepuffish.

If anyone entered or left the Hufflepuff quarters, he would know. Oh yes, he would know.

Unfortunately, no one did.

After a while, his foot fell asleep. His hands, gripping the corner of the wall so he wouldn't fall over, were starting to go numb. And sweaty. Draco hated sweatiness. It was all gross and sticky and slippery--

--and slippery--

His hands slid. He groped for the wall, but it was too late, and he crashed to the stone floor, the side of his face hitting it particularly hard.

He lay in a heap, wondering if it was worth it to try and get up.

"Ow," he said, as an afterthought.

Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones came up behind him. They looked at him oddly and stepped over his limp body. Then Susan whispered the password--Draco strained his ears, but no, it was no good--and they calmly disappeared into Hufflepuff.

Oh, how Draco hated love.

---

There was nothing for it, then, but to go back to the Slytherin dorms. At least Abbott and Bones would know it was he who was the Evil Nasty Slytherin. Actually, this could be seen as a turn for the better once he thought about it. They'd know it was him, so his reputation would be polished, but they wouldn't be able to prove anything.

So it was with a light heart that he said the Slytherin password ("Purebloods rule, Mudbloods drool") and entered the Common Room.

Pansy immediately stopped talking, looked up at him, narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth to say something nasty, shut it, looked as if she was going to burst into tears, stood and ran up the stairs to the girls' dorms.

Bugger.

Draco flopped down to wait.

---

Dearest Malfoy,

You're hilarious. Hannah says her definition of love is seeing you humiliated in front of the whole school. Mine is dumping mud into your hair. Hope that helps with your little project--which the entire school knows about by now, you stupid prat.

With love,

Susan Bones

Well. At least it gave him something to write down.

---

Part Four: The Gryffindors

---

And now he'd reached the really scary bit. The Gryffindors were no joke. If he went around asking them about love, they could tear him apart for the rest of his life about it.

He'd been planning this one from the start. He'd thought of all the Gryffindor girls in his year; not difficult, as there were only three. And he'd realized that Brown and Patil were, basically, the same person, so it was pointless to ask both of them.

And that left Granger.

Shuddering, he made his way towards Brown. She was, after all, in love.

It was the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match, so making his way towards Brown meant shouldering his way through crowds and crowds of screaming Gryffindors. And they were screaming. Gryffindors, everyone knew, took their Quidditch very, very seriously. Several people had red and gold warpaint smeared on their cheeks, and there seemed to be some sort of ritual sacrifice of a raven taking place in the third row, with seventh-years gathering around and chanting and banging on drums.

Draco tried to make his way through discreetly, but it was hard to be discreet when he was the only one wearing green in a veritable sea of red and gold.

There was a bubble of silence around him as the mad Gryffindors went into shock at the sight of one of the enemy striding amongst them so boldly. It spread out in ripples as more people turned to look, and suddenly Draco found himself standing in the middle of the bleachers, being stared at by hundreds of years of Quidditch competitiveness. He was suddenly conscious of how bright and conspicuous a color green was.

He swallowed.

"Slytherin!" someone hissed.

Draco half expected to be jumped, but nothing happened. They just continued to give him surly, forbidding glares.

Well. They were Gryffindors, after all. They were all... noble. And stuff.

He began to walk towards Brown again. Slowly. Non-threateningly. See? he tried to say. I'm just putting this foot in front of this one. Nothing wrong with that. And now the other foot...

Finally he reached her, but he couldn't possibly ask the question with all the Gryffindors staring at him.

"Brown," he said, teeth clenched. "Could we possibly... go somewhere else?"

Lavender blushed. "Oh! I... sure! Where do you... where?"

She giggled. Oh dear sweet Merlin.

Finnigan appeared in front of him, growling.

"Excuse me, Malfoy," he growled, "but Lavender is otherwise engaged at this time. Perhaps she could meet up with you in a few decades, when I am dead."

"Oh, please, Finnigan," Draco snorted. "Because neither you nor Brown has ever, ever cheated on the other. It may interest you to know that I am about as romantically interested in Brown as I am a Bang-Ended Skrewt."

Finnigan looked uncertain, as if considering what Draco's romantic adventures with the Bang-Ended Skrewt might have been.

"I mean I'm not interested!" Draco said exasperatedly.

"Oh," Finnigan said, with obvious relief. "Okay."

He went off. Draco saw him discreetly pinch Weasley's bottom on his way over to Thomas. He shuddered and tried to block it out of his mind.

"Just come with me, okay?" he told Brown crossly, yanking her up by the sleeve and dragging her out through the still-silent Gryffindors.

The sound of Finnigan softly explaining to Thomas as Draco passed how he'd had to protect Lavender because she was his friend, that was all, cheered him up slightly. Oh, Finnigan. The best entertainment a Malfoy could wish for.

---

"Okay, Brown," he whispered, looking around furtively. "I think we're alone."

"Oooooh, I hope so," Brown said breathlessly, her face pink.

Draco looked at the giggly, mushy mess he had by the sleeve.

"Right," he said, "let's get a few things straight. I have not brought you here to A) snog you, B) shag you or C) do anything in between. I've brought you here to answer a question for me. Once you're done, you can bugger off and get sacrificed to the Gryffindorian gods of Quidditch victories, for all I care."

Brown sobered up. Well, she pouted, at least.

"Okaaaaay," she moaned, her snog-dar clearly realizing its false alarm. Now, Draco could tell, she just wanted to leave and find someone else to satisfy her womanly urges.

Ew. He wished he hadn't thought of that.

"Good. The question is: what, in your opinion, is love?" He took out his form in anticipation.

"Oh, myyyyy," Brown said, flushing again. "Love is the most wonderful, amaaazing feeling in the whole wide world! It's when you are so deeply connected to someone that you will never, ever, ever, ever, ever leave them, not even if one of you gets in a car crash and ends up in a wheelchair and then the other one has a fatal disease but the wheelchair girl is too burdened by her long-lost sister coming back from Singapore and he doesn't want to worry her more so he doesn't tell her until he only has two weeks left to live and then his estranged mother finds pictures of him with that skank from Dallas but he was tricked into kissing her but she doesn't know that and so..."

"Okay, got it!" Draco said quickly.

"Can I leave now?" Brown asked plaintively.

"What? Yes... sure," Draco said, scribbling.

She left.

---

Draco was back in his dorm, taking deep breaths.

He knew what was coming next. He'd known from the start that it would eventually come to this. It was the moment that this had all been building to.

He was going to have to ask Hermione Granger.

He was terrified. Granger was a terrifying girl, when you came right down to it. She was bossy and she had so many disgusting morals and she always did her homework on time. Well, Draco did his homework on time too, but Granger did it because she didn't want to fail the class. Draco did his homework becuase otherwise the List Gods would smite him. The Homework Gods, though not a pantheon Draco was bound to, were good friends of the List Gods.

Somehow, Draco doubted that Hermione shared his religion. He had yet to find anyone who shared his particular religion, actually.

And anyway, Granger was one of his enemies. He couldn't go around asking her for favors. It just wouldn't look good.

Still, she was the only girl left in Gryffindor who wasn't a Brown clone (and Draco never wanted to live through anything like the Brown Experience again). So the storm must be braved, in the name of love.

Ew. He wasn't ever thinking that thought again.

---

He took the plunge after Care of Magical Creatures. It had been Kneazles, nasty slinky things, but he carefully camouflaged his bad mood and put on a sunny, winning smile.

"Her-mi-one!" he enthused. "My dear girl, I was wondering if maybe your wonderful amazing self could just do me the slightest favor--"

"What?" she snapped.

"A question--"

"You want to know what I think love is, right?"

Draco swallowed, his sunny smile fading fast. When Abbott and Bones had said that everyone in the school knew, he hadn't thought they really meant everyone in the school.

"Yes," he admitted through clenched teeth.

"Okay," Granger sighed, putting down her bag and signalling to Ron and Harry to go up to the Common Room without her.

"Is it really going to take that long?" Draco groaned.

"How should I know? Just ask the question already!"

"But you already know it!"

"Ask me the bloody question already, Malfoy!"

"Okay, okay!" Draco took a step back, his hands held up in defense, then slowly lowered them to take the form and a quill out of his breast pocket. "What, in your opinion, is love?"

"Hang on, I want to see what you've already got."

"What? But--Granger! For God's sake! Give that back!"

But it was too late. Granger was studying the form intently. Draco felt his face flushing as a wave of humiliation washed over him. His form! She had stolen it! Heaven knew what he'd written on there.

Granger raised an eyebrow.

"Why Zabini?"

"Not allowed to say," Draco mumbled miserably.

Granger shrugged and turned back to the list. As she read her eyes opened wider and wider, until at last she snorted, grabbed the form in both hands, tore it in half and dropped it into the mud.

Draco's jaw dropped. The form the form the form the form NO! All that work! All that humiliation! All that--that--there weren't enough words for this!

"You--you--you--AGH!" he stuttered.

"It was all crap," Granger said frankly. "You want to know what love really is?"

Draco, who had been busy staring at the form, let his wild eyes flick up to Granger's smirking face.

"Love is when your entire existence is focused around one person. It's when they're all you can think of, when they send shivers down your spine, when they're the first person you look for when you enter a crowded room. You spend your nights dreaming and your days daydreaming.

"It's when the person you love is the center of your life; when simple acknowledgment from them can make or break your day. It's when everything reminds you of them. It's when you can't imagine a life without them.

"And most importanly," Granger said sternly, "it is not 'two people ecstatically writhing'."

"That's stupid," Draco scoffed. "I mean, that could be like--that's almost like how I feel about Potter."

Granger smirked.

---

The door to the dormitory slammed shut. Zabini, who was busy pinning a shirtless Smith to Draco's bed, looked up.

Draco was standing in front of the closed door. His eyes were wild. His face was flushed, and while his skin never looked anything but pink, it was the closest to red his face would ever get.

He stood there for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

Then he said, "Zabini, my friend, never go near Granger. She is bloody insane."

He stalked over to his bed, grabbed his field notes from under Smith's shoulder, flopped down on Zabini's bed and drew the curtain.

---

Pages were spread all across the bed, and Draco searched through them frantically.

10:11 (Charms), Finnigan and Patil have made a fort out of cushions and disappeared into it. Wet, sucking sounds can be heard.

That was love. Did he want to do that with Potter?

Sweat glistens on Harry's forearms. It is beginning to get stuffy and uncomfortable under the cushions, and the fabric rubs uncomfortably against Draco's skin. Still, he lays triumphant claim to Harry's mouth, and the kiss is hard and intense, as if they are trying to go farther into each other than physical boundaries will let them, maybe even erase the difference between Harry and Draco--

Yes.

He reached for another.

5:29 (Quidditch practice), Nott, pretending to be unsteady after getting off his broom, trips and falls on top of Parkinson.

5:31 (Quidditch practice), He seems to be taking a very long time to get up.

And that, too, was love. Could he imagine injecting Potter and himself into the situation?

Every inch of his body is pressed against a matching area of Harry's. He can feel the sensations rocketing up and down his form as his skin registers Harry's breathing, his heartbeat, the slight tremors that Draco can only hope are because of their close proximity because he knows--

Yes.

Another.

7:18 (breakfast), Weasley is giving something to Granger. It may be her birthday (check that out). Object given impossible to see, but it looks very sparkly and... oh, Granger has put mystery objects in ears, so probably earrings. Granger looks very disgustingly happy.

Well, he wouldn't give Potter earrings. Potter wasn't that type. But maybe... something like... yeah...

Harry protests that Draco didn't need to get him anything, but Draco just rolls his eyes and pushes the package at him. Harry's eyes are already alight, as though a present on his birthday is some sort of amazing miracle. He tries to open it carefully to save the wrapping paper but gets impatient halfway through and rips it off. He opens the box inside the paper almost reverentially.

"Oh, how fantastic!" he exclaims, admiring the polished silver.

"I got them engraved with our names," Draco tells him. "Here, try them on..."

Harry holds out a wrist and Draco snaps one handcuff over it. The look in Harry's eyes is adoring, affectionate, and most of all, disgustingly happy. Draco has never liked excessive happiness, but somehow with Harry it--

Yes yes and thrice yes, dammit.

Draco thought he might be starting to understand.

---

When Draco saw Potter's little group of three in the hall on the way to lunch, he knew he had to seize the opportunity.

"Oi, Potter!" he called out.

Potter immediately stiffened and slowly turned.

"What is it, Malfoy?" he spat.

"Why, Potter," Draco began in a mocking tone, "I do believe that I--er, need to talk to you," he finished lamely, dropping the voice.

Potter's eyebrows flew up towards his hairline.

"OH, HEY, RON," Granger said very loudly and pointedly, "I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I LEFT MY POTIONS NOTES IN THE COMMON ROOM! LET'S GO GET THEM!"

Draco inwardly rolled his eyes. Granger was horrible at subtlety. He made a mental note about it.

She dragged the bewildered Weasley off. Draco seized Harry's arm, trying not to let sappy, love-filled thoughts about the fact that they were touching enter his head. He pulled Harry into the nearest classroom.

"Right," he said. "So, Potter--"

"Excuse me?"

Draco looked over. Professor Flitwick's head stuck over the podium at the front of the room. The Charms teacher adjusted his glasses, trying to see them more clearly.

"Bugg--I mean, ugh!" Draco exclaimed. "Aren't there any conveniently never-used classrooms in this school?!"

"I don't think so--" Professor Flitwick began, but Draco had already pulled Harry out into the hallway and into a broom closet.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled, yanking his arm back. "Will you tell me what this is about now?"

"Yes, okay," Draco said.

He took a deep breath.

"Ha--Potter," he began, "you know how I was asking everyone what love was?"

Harry visibly relaxed, looking relieved.

"Oh," he said, "you just want to ask me--"

"Er, no," said Draco quickly, before he could take the easy way out. "No, see, I wanted to say that, well, I found out."

Harry blinked at him from behind his (oh-so-cute) glasses.

"What love is," Draco added helpfully.

"Why are you telling me, then?"

Draco bit his lip.

"Because," he said.

He could feel his heart beating against his chest.

"Because," he repeated.

They were standing very close together. Had to, in a broom closet of such a size.

"Because I love you."

Harry blinked at him again.

"Er, excuse me?" he said, sounding faintly panicked.

"I love you," Draco muttered. "Like Weasley and Granger. Or Nott and Parkinson. Or like Finnigan and the whole school. You know. Love."

"O-okay," said Harry, looking longingly towards the door. "Er, that's... nice."

"Yes," Draco said awkwardly.

"I. Er. I. I suppose... er, okay."

Draco looked at him oddly. "What?"

"Er."

"Harry," he said, rolling his eyes, "please, we must work on your coherency."

Face bright red, Harry leaned forward and kissed Draco.

It was awkward and clumsy, and Harry was obviously very uncomfortable. But Draco put his hands on the back of Harry's neck and pulled him in closer and Harry relaxed and let Draco take the lead and then it was nice. And... well, okay, it wasn't exactly like his fantasies, but Draco didn't terribly miss the feathery purple cushions. He didn't even miss the handcuffs. And he couldn't wait to see Pansy's reaction.

Harry pulled away, frowning.

"Hang on," he said, "don't we have class?"

"Shut up, you stupid Gryffindor," Draco growled, and lunged into another kiss.