A/N: Please see disclaimer on my bio page. It extends to all the stories I post here. This is meant to be rather light and funny. It is a bit different than my other story. I hope however, that people still enjoy.

Warnings: There will be smut in the future and light language scattered in strategic places.

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"…128, 129, 130, 131…"

"Pansy, what the bloody hell are you doing? Your counting is disturbing my afternoon nap."

Draco cracked an eye at the girl lounging next to him on a large warm rock at the edge of the Lake's shore. Crabbe and Goyle stood impassively blocking the sun's rays from their master's fair skin.

Pansy glanced sideways at Draco through her long dark lashes.

"Oh, I'm just trying to count the number of freckles on Weasley's back, since he and his friends are sunbathing right below us."

Draco sat up so fast that Crabbe almost didn't move in time to block the direct sunlight that would have fallen on Draco's face. Draco shot him a glare and filed that away for later, before turning said glare to Pansy. He studied her for a moment. Her hair was currently black—there was no telling what color it would be tomorrow. Ever since she had discovered that blasted spell in Witch Weekly, she'd been going through the spectrum of colors. She'd even sported a blond that matched Draco's for a week, much to his chagrin. Her eyes were deep lavender—that was natural as far as Draco knew. Pansy smirked at him before turning back to her amusement, playing with one of her curls. This was bad.

"NO. No, this is wrong Pansy. I can't believe that you are even thinking what I know you are thinking. We may have decided not to take sides in this little fiasco of a war, but that doesn't mean you can get friendly with a Weasley. I absolutely forbid it…" Pansy arched a delicate eyebrow but did not look at him.

Shit.

"…I mean think rationally Pansy. I doubt it would even work. Not even you could turn Weasley from making moon eyes at the mudblood." Pansy grinned.

Damn.

Draco opened his mouth to try again, but Pansy cut him off. "Oh look, there's the weaselette. I think that she might be going sunbathing. What interesting swimwear."

Without even realizing what he was doing, Draco had joined Pansy in looking over the edge of the rock. A slight tinge of pink suffused his face. Pansy looked at him innocently for a moment before the expression became mocking. Innocence simply doesn't stick to the face of a Slytherin. Draco cleared his throat.

"See, the Weasley's are so poor they couldn't even afford a decent amount of material for their daughter's swimwear." Pansy raised both eyebrows and batted her lashes. Crabbe was making a sound suspiciously like a chuckle hidden by a coughing fit and Goyle had simply covered his face with one massive hand. Damn, they really were smarter than they looked—which was not really a great accomplishment. They had found a tutor somewhere and had been much harder to work with ever since. Pansy had resumed counting. Draco sighed. Once Pansy made up her mind, there was no changing it. Sometimes he wished that she had joined the Death Eaters. Let the Dark Lord try and deal with her. She'd probably give him a run for his money. Draco propped his chin on his hand and glanced back down at Ginny. It really was an indecent amount of material…but he found little else to complain about.

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"Umm, 'mione…I think Parkinson's gone barmy. She keeps smiling at me like she wants to eat me or something." Ron was careful not to speak until he had chewed all of his food. Hermione had hexed him last time he accidentally sprayed her with pumpkin juice.

"Hmm, that's nice." She didn't even look up from the letter she was writing. A letter to Viktor Krum. Ron turned sulkily to Harry, only to realize that he was deep in conversation with Ginny, both with copies of the Quibbler turned upside down in front of them. They seemed to have come across something of interest and were animatedly discussing it. Luna had wondered over and they seemed to be asking her some questions. Ron quickly looked around for someone else to talk to, but they were all busy with conversations and homework. Colin Creevy caught his eye and flashed him a big toothy grin and started to walk over to Ron, but his camera strap caught on Dennis' arm, and the two of them went crashing to the floor. Ron groaned and looked morosely at the plate of sticky buns in front of him. Just as he reached for one, it disappeared. It was just going to be one of those days.

He slowly reached for another one, just waiting for it to disappear, wondering if his brothers had snuck in again just to play another trick on him. Nothing happened and he safely retrieved a bun. It was halfway to his mouth when he happened to look over at the Slytherin table.

Pansy was staring at him again. Only this time, she had a sticky bun in her hand—his sticky bun—the one that had disappeared. Delicately, she raised the pastry to her lips, all the while maintaining eye contact with the stunned Gryffindor. He gulped as she slowly slid her tongue out and swirled it across the grooves of the bun, licking off the pale creamy icing. Ron barely noticed when his own sticky bun fell from his fingers and back onto the plate with a dull thunk. A smack on the back of the head brought him out of his trance.

"Falling asleep over breakfast again?" Harry grinned at him.

"Umm, uh 'spose." Ron glanced back over at the Slytherin table, but Pansy and her rather disturbing pastry were gone. He looked down at his own plate of sticky buns and stared at them with shock for a moment before pushing the plate away and slamming his head into the table. Repeatedly.

"Er, Ron…are you alright there?" Ron could hear the worry in Harry's voice.

"Should I get Madame Pomfrey? Did someone hex you again?" Even Hermione sounded worried. He had to be gratified by that didn't he?

"No, I'll be fine. Just…give me a moment will you?"

The other two agreed and left for morning classes.

Ron sat up and gingerly moved away from the plate of sticky buns. It really was a shame. He wouldn't be able to eat one again—not without thinking things he really shouldn't, foremost of which was that he had never in his life wanted so much to be a pastry.