Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.
But I do own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

THIS STORY HAS BEEN RE-WRITTEN! EVERYTHING! SO READ IT AGAIN DAMN IT!

Chapter Seven – Eple

"Tell me Draco, dear. Is he the one starring your lonely wet dreams lately?" –Alex Ladon

Hermione Granger had always been known as the patient, collected and rational kind of girl. And she was, honestly. She had to be if her relationship with the hot-headed Ron Weasley was to work. It was also necessary if she wanted to pull this year's Journalism off. It helped her also with being just about the only girl in an all-boys circle of friends.

Today, however, Hermione really did have the urge to pick up the freshly sharpened pencil that lay before her on the bench and thrust it all the way up, through her nose, into her brain. And twirl it around.

It was bad enough that Dumbledore had picked her as one of the two that would lead this year's Halloween Ball. It was even worse that right now at the moment she and her infamous partner were seated side by side at a bench, judging a series of volunteers that had applied for being on the live-music band, just like those imbeciles at Idols. The latter being a program, by the way, that sickened her. But it was absolutely horrendous that through some ungodly twisted connection in Dumbledore's brain he had chosen her partner to be Draco Malfoy.

"That's absolutely terrible, my dear, though it might flatter a pair of elephants during mating season. No, I'm so sorry, off you go then."

The previously bold-looking girl with long, dark hair, who, Hermione saw by looking at her entry list, went by the name of Romilda Vane burst out in tears of hurt pride and deep shame before fleeing out through the door into the hallway. She nearly barreled into an especially venomous looking Blaise Zabini who strode in as he was next up. The list of participants, obviously, was not ordered alphabetically, but in order of sign up.

"Was that necessary?" Hermione hissed under her breath at Draco, who was leaning back on his chair quite lazily indeed.

"The truth hurts, Granger, and I am kind enough to let the daft child know it, if her friends will not." The blonde drawled at her as he crossed out Romilda's name on the list. "I would be cruel to let her go on believing she can actually sing. Besides anyone who chooses to sing a song of Britney Spear is on my 'not-over-my-dead-body'-list."

The pencil snapped between Hermione's furiously clenched fingers.

"Oh, come on, Granger." Draco clucked at her, plucking a new one out of his backpack for her, "Lighten up. I find this quite amusing."

Taking a laborious, trembling breath, Hermione instructed herself to calm down. Honestly, if it were not for the fact that they were both in charge of the event and that Draco was one of their best male vocalists, she'd already… she didn't know what she'd do, but it'd be painful indeed.

"You," She declared, emphasizing the pronoun by pointing at him with a condemning finger, "are hopeless."

"That's the spirit." The blonde photographer smirked, "Now, then, on we go… Ah, Blaise. No needs to show me, just move along, you're accepted."

The Italian, who had already relieved his violin from the case and was tapping his foot impatiently, raised an eyebrow.

Hermione nearly pummeled Draco right there and then. "Not a chance. Zabini stay. Malfoy shut up."

"Gods Granger, what has crawled up into your bum and died?" Blaise responded casually, as he rested his cheek against the base of the instrument, thusly clenching it between shoulder and head.

"Do we even want to know?" Draco snorted rhetorically.

Hermione made a zipping motion with one hand to signify that she was through discussing it. Draco held up his hands innocently just as the first trembling notes of music stirred the air between the both of them. Both of the panel shut up their squabbling and turned towards Blaise with interest.

Eyes closed in deep-rooted concentration, back as straight as a rod, Blaise Zabini coaxed the beginnings of a sweet, yet fierce shivering melody from the violin. He always improvised, never following a neatly studied verse. From when he'd been physically ready to hold an instrument his parents had herded him off to music classes. At the age of fourteen he's learned there all they had been able to learn him, and he discovered more yet on his own. He barely displayed this talent publicly, for to him it was almost a private past time. Usually he picked up his violin when he needed to let of some steam; he'd go out into the fields that stretched out besides the forest behind their manor and there he'd construct almost violent torrents of music that almost nobody heard. It was on Draco's request, with what ridiculous Halloween event, that he'd conceded to go along with it for once.

He did not know how long he'd been playing, for a sweet few moments Blaise had withdrawn completely into the lovely ebb and flow of the violin's voice. When he dazedly re-opened his hazel eyes, he found Draco smiling at him from behind the interlaced fingers he was leaning on and Granger inhaling air in open-mouthed disbelief.

For the better of a whole two minutes he stood there in an uncomfortable silence.

"Can I go now?" he asked at last.

Draco was still smirking to himself when his female partner came back to reality, "Oh, yes. Thank you, Blaise. We'll be expecting you."

"If you say so." Blaise retorted with a half shrug, but with a touch of relief in his voice. Unlike that of his cousin's, Finbar, Blaise's voice was not nearly as deep. It was baritone yet still, but the rumble of the tones seemed not to ignite somewhere within his chest like Finbar was known for. Blaise's baritone was smooth and thick, like honey.

When the dark haired male had left the room, Draco could not help but say, "I told you so."

Usually tender brown eyes shot jagged daggers at the youth, but refrained from making a comment. It seemed that all of Draco's closest friends, bar Alex Ladon, had made it onto the band. Closest friends being Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott; the former as another violist, the latter, shockingly, as another singer.

It did not quite matter that there seemed to be so many participants, because they had the better of a whole three hours to fill that very evening, and they were covering many different songs that would require a complex set up of musicians and vocalists. Still, on the other hand, they had to be weary not to allow in too many, for it should still be possible to manage it.

Next up where the Weasley twins, from whom George Weasley entered first.

Now it was Draco who looked as if he'd bitten into a square of melon and Hermione whose elfin face that lit up upon seeing him.

"Heya Hermione," he greeted, already seating himself at the rather shabby drums that were used for the tryouts. "Ferret-face." he added solemnly.

Draco seemed to loose his wits for the moment, mouthing silently 'ferret-face' whilst frowning, entirely not happy to be left out of the loop. It seemed he had acquired a slight-name for which he did not even know the occasion for.

Just like Blaise Zabini had done, George just improvised as he went along. He could conjure sounds, rhythms and beats that neither of the two listeners had ever heard. In the end it was hard to say a negative.

It took up the better part of the day before they'd sorted out the entry-list. In the end they'd gathered around twenty-five people, which was, for a simple evening of live-music entertainment, a-lot. But, then again, they'd needed folk for the lights and sounds, both male and female singers, and a whole lot of musicians. Afterwards they might still have to post 'wanted' flyers for additional help.

Both of them were clearing out the desk and storing away papers and pencils in their rucksacks.

"I think we chose well, don't you?" Hermione ventured, figuring that if they wanted this to work between the two of them, she'd better start taking up on her own advice that she usually lavished upon Ron.

"Don't cheer too early, Granger." Draco answered solemnly, neither cold nor kind. It appeared that he could be civil and even mature if he wanted to. "For all you know it could be a disaster if we let them play together."

"What do you mean?" she blinked at him.

"What I mean is, Granger, that they have to sound together." He spoke solemnly, both his hands stirring the air between them both almost as if he were trying to explain it by movement, "It has to click, " he snapped his fingers, "just like that. If it doesn't, it won't work, not even after one and a half month's hard work. Believe me."

He gazed at her so intensely, the brooding gray clouds in his eyes whisked away to reveal shards of the brightest blue crowing the pupils.

"Yeah," she said with a slight nod, meeting his pressing stare unflinchingly, "I think I do."

"Good." Draco said with a stiff nod.

The blonde hoisted his rucksack around his shoulders while Hermione slung her book bag over her head and around her torso. Feeling decidedly awkward, Hermione kept on glancing from between curling wisps of hair at her male partner on this project. Something about him was changing and she just couldn't put her finger on it. Just couldn't. It frustrated her to no end. Draco had always been such an asshole; when he'd first arrived here the blonde had spouted the foulest things at her. He'd made her cry, back then, those first times. She had not understood why he said the things he did, acted the ways he did. Even now she did not. But what drove her senseless to no end was that during the end of their fifth and now, especially, during the beginning of his sixth, he'd come around; almost pulling a cheerful one-eighty out of nowhere and stowing the offensive attitude he'd been pushing all those months –years even- before. Okay, he was still a bastard, but a small one compared to what he used to be. Actually, it was only Ron, who's every move Draco kept on doggedly tracking with the most wickedly sharp slights ever heard.

There were times even when Hermione just wished that Ron would just abandon all kindness and just punch Malfoy's lights out. Heck, she had done it in their third year. And boy, had that felt good. Like Whooyeah-good.

Almost as if sensing her path of thoughts, Draco stepped aside wearily, "Granger?"

"Hm?" She hummed sweetly.

"You are aware that you have been standing there for almost five minutes?" he said with a slight trace of his old smirk tracing his mouth, though even he did seem somewhat worried. Maybe he had recognized the dangerous gleam in her eyes. "I'm going to leave now, but don't worry, you can just stand there for how long as you wish, really. I'll leave the key here." He patted on the bookshelf near the door. Then he arched a curious eyebrow at her before giving a smooth shrug of his left shoulder and slipping into the hallway.

Smiling secretively at the space he had just occupied, Hermione shook her head, curls dancing as she did so.

--

"This is ridiculous!" Ron ground out as he flapped the paper erratically in front of Harry's nose.

The latter, plucking it deftly out of the air, was wearing a puzzled expression on his face. Flattening the crumpled piece of paper, his green eyes narrowing behind round spectacles, he gave it a quick scan over. It was their 'events'-calendar, which the whole school had received today.

"What? The Halloween Ball?" Harry prompted. As for himself, Harry disliked the idea of having to play dress-up. Okay, there was the fact that he got to see Malfoy sing on stage and Hermione play the piano, but having to skip around in some silly outfit was not his notion of having fun. Most of the time he felt ridiculous enough just being himself, with all those odd situations he usually got himself worked into, so he did not quite feel the need to put a costume on for it.

"No!" Ron said, batting away Harry's hands and reclaiming the schedule. "This! That's what ridiculous!" he grunted, jabbing his finger insistently at something at the top of the stencil.

"Ridiculous…" Seamus mused from where he was sitting at the other side of the table, still working down his tuna-salad sandwich, "You know, that sounds like a spell. Like Abracadabra! Just say it with me: rrrrrriiiiii-diculous. Roll that 'r' baby."

"Arrrrr." Finbar echoed, pirate-accent and all.

"Or like Sim-sala-bim." Dean added, in sync with the sizzling opening of his soda can "Or Expelliarmus!"

Seamus shoved his dark friend sideways, causing his friends to spit out half of his gulp on the table-top. "You bloody oaf, Expelliarmus doesn't exist."

"It's magic, how can it not exist?" Dean demanded in turn, dabbing irritated at the spilled drink with a napkin "Just listen, Expelliarrrrrr-mus. Sounds like magic to me."

"Or Avada Kedavra." Harry gasped as he was trying to snatch back his event-calendar from a frantic Ron.

Seamus halted his progress of transporting his sandwich to his half-open mouth, "That sounds awfully creepy, Harry."

The emerald-green eyed youth blinked at his two friends, running a hand through his untamable mop of dark hair, revealing the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead, "Why?" he asked.

"Well, just listen; Avada Kedavra." He recited, using a morbidly dark tone, "Sounds pretty dangerous to me."

"Uh-huh," Dean agreed, "S'probably very painful. Maybe it makes your toenails grow inward."

Seamus rolled his periwinkle-blue eyes, "I said dangerous, Thomas, not some icky foot-blight. I mean awful, terrible, agonizing; like your brains leaking from your nostrils."

"Ew." Dean said who was listening with wide intrigued eyes, his chin cupped in his hands like he was listening to an extremely enthralling story.

"Or even kill people!" Seamus bellowed, carried away by his imagination, throwing his arms akimbo in excitement, nearly slamming a fourth year into the face, "Now that would be useful. I would just point my…" he looked for an object on the lunch table, "magical spoon at a foe of my choice –Goyle- perhaps and just say those magical two words- and-"

"That's cruel, man." Harry interjected from where he had grabbed hold of Ron's neck with one arm while trying to reach out for the paper with the other which his victim held out at arms length, "Not even magic should be legal to do that."

Seamus was rolling his eyes, whilst making neat swish and flick movements with his eating utensil, "It was your spell."

"Seamus," Harry said and, letting abruptly go of Ron, slapped both hands on the table and stuck his nose right in the middle of Seamus and Dean, which caused the latter to spring up in surprise and nearly choke on the soda he was peacefully slurping. Grinning wickedly Harry continued, "It is magic. It does not exist."

"Harry, mate," Seamus sighed, using his forefinger to push Harry's nose back a couple of inches. "There is a little magic in all of us."

"Aw, Seamus!" Finbar chuckled, resting his head on the Irish youth's bony shoulder, squeaking in a horribly failing girlish falsetto "That's so cute."

"GUYS!" Ron barked loudly at them, demanding attention again. "Hello, this is not amusing, I am distressed, could you give up your highly useless and even less magical conversation for a moment and just bloody listen to me."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry said deadly serious fashion, sitting down again and folding his arms. Then he pulled his spectacles of his nose and put one of the ears just between his full lips, "Tell us everything and more, m'boy. Your deepest, darkest secrets and your fears. We are all ears."

"Hell, mate," Seamus said with a smirk, "You'd make a hell of a convincing psychiatrist."

"I'm like his therapist. I need to start charging him." Harry said smugly.

"Ron doesn't seem very convinced." Finbar remarked dryly.

Indeed, the redhead was virtually snarling at them, red hair standing on end and smoke all but steaming from his nostrils and ears. It seemed that he was in some desperate need of attention.

"Okay, okay," Harry relented, slipping his spectacles back his nose and blinking as the world came back into focus, "What is it?"

"Thank you, Potter." Ron breathed snidely at him, "I just wanted to say, if you'd look at our delightful 'event'-calendar, that besides the Halloween Ball, we have a five day school trip! Which is the ridiculous –don't you dare Finnigan-" he snarled just as Seamus opened his mouth to chortle 'riiiii-' "thing I was trying to tell you about!" he finished and in his frenzy he was nearly tearing the short strands of red hair from his scalp.

Dutifully Dean whipped out the calendar and read the explanation note that was added by each event. For example, it told that the Halloween Ball required a costume, would provide snacks and drinks for a small fee and would have live-entertainment from a last-minute steamed ready school band. The very same for which Hermione was now missing from their table. At first Ron had been green of jealousy that his female friend got the day of –and more to come- to work on the preparation of the band. But after hearing that Malfoy was second one in charge he just had gone muttering dark threats under his breath at no one in particular.

Tracing his fingers over the various school-related events and educational trips, Dean finally came upon the five day long excursion Ron had been raving about. As side note it said, as was known by now, that it was a five day long trip for both the fifth and sixth years. The youth centre was situated in a part of Great Brittan where Dean had never even heard of, and would be with cottages for the sixth years and a communal house for them all to meet in, where the fifth years would be accommodated as well.

"This doesn't sound too shabby at all," Dean assessed after a short moment of contemplation, "I mean, a five day trip, with loads of free times in the evenings for us sixth years and cottages for four or six students. That could be loads of fun!"

Ron nearly thrust the paper into the Afro-American's face, "Hello, Thomas! It says TEAM-BONDING for the sixth year. They are planning to dump us somewhere in the middle of nowhere and expect us to play truth or dare with bloody fucking DRACO MALFOY!"

Tapping his lips with his index finger Harry murmured, "It seemed that McGonagall was serious about all that 'making it easier for fellow-peers' and all. I'd think they had hopes to finally clear this rivalry out and have a better inter-whatever co-operation. Cause, deny it or not, this whole shit with Malfoy had gotten the whole school unsettled."

"Thank you, Harry, " Ron pouted, pulling back the paper from Dean's face and sinking down on his chair, "Nice to know you're supporting me."

Finbar who had been blowing bubbles in his apple-juice a moment ago, looking very out of place for such on wild-looking fellow as him, let the straw flip out from between his lips and said, "C'mon Ron, nobody is blaming you. It's just the truth that the whole sixth year is at odds with each other and it's also wearing off on our lower years. That's just the fucking way it is."

"I would sooner commit ritual suicide instead of playing all buddy-buddy with ferret-face." Ron groaned miserably, but seemed satisfied being able to apply Malfoy's new slight-name, which had sprouted from, very obviously, the albino ferret that had been christened with the very same name.

Harry pushed his chair back with an annoying screech, grabbed his apple from the table and bit down on it so he had his hands free to shoulder his rucksack.

"What's the rush?" Dean asked, observing him curiously.

"Call of nature. I'm going to try and find the loo." He explained "where is the one closest by again?"

"Second floor Harry, don't get lost now, okay? We've got less than twenty minutes left before classes." Seamus provided, finally shoving down the last piece of his sandwich behind his jaws.

"Yeah, sure." Harry nodded absently at him, "Later." He threw over his shoulder as he hightailed it out of there as fast as his long legs could carry him.

By the time he had managed to jog up his way to the second floor, his thighs and gluteal muscles were straining in protest. Of course, as he left the lavatories again, his throat was parched and dry with his nearly sprinting up the stairs on his desperate rush to relieve himself. So now he was thirsty again. Oh, the irony. But, he was not as forgetful as Sirius always gave him credit for, and remembered the coffee machine one or two floors higher. That would do just fine. So, again Harry found himself trotting up stairs in search for something to please his physical needs. His memory had served him right as the coffee machine winked at him with the midday sun rebounding of it in an inviting flare. It required a lot of rummaging through his rucksack, jeans-pockets and jacket-pockets to retrieve enough coins which he could feed to the machine and have it produce some of the dark liquid.

Folding his hands around the hot plastic cup, Harry took a deep, satisfied sip and- nearly walked right into Draco Malfoy. Some of the heated liquid sloshed sloppily over the edge and onto his fingers. He cursed and flung the hurt hand in mid-air, waving it in attempt to cool the burning sensation, "Fuck, Malfoy can't you see where you're going?"

"Excuse me." The blonde snorted, taking a theatric side-step to let the literature student pass.

To make it complete, Draco's two companions –the ever bohemian looking Alex Ladon and the half-Italian Blaise Zabini- stood waiting for him near the staircase.

Harry, ignoring the other young man, resumed his pace back to his next destination, where he'd been having advanced English from McGonagall.

"Oh, puh-lease!" Alex was begging the stoic Blaise as he neared them, "just a short piece, nothing fancy."

Her friend was looking decidedly uncomfortable, trying to hide the violin which was resting in its case on the ground, by standing in front of it, "It's really not that good…"

"Of course it is!" she countered "Please, for me?" right at that moment, when she had folded her hands together and was looking hopefully at Blaise, Harry was right next to them and Alex chose to use his presence in her favor. Yanking him bodily to join the circle, standing tiptoe so she could keep her arm around his shoulders, she announced, "See, even Harry wants to hear it, don't you Harry?" somewhere during it all she had pilfered the plastic cup out of his hands and had kept it from gulping all over the edge. Now she gave it back to him.

"Uh, hear wha-" Harry started to say.

Alex slapped her hand over his mouth, effectively cutting of his sentence, "See! He wants to hear you play the violin, too. Oh, Blaise, plea-hease?"

Grumbling under his breath, movements choppy and actually somewhat nervous, Blaise retrieved the violin and released it from its case. The following movements spoke of expertise and it was obvious that handling the instrument was a second nature to him, as much practiced as breathing, so to say.

"So, what do you want me to play?" he asked wryly.

Harry gave him a heartening roll of his eyes in Alex's direction and was surprised to see the merest of smiles flicker around the full lips that were the mirror image of those of his cousins'.

"Improvise," Alex said simply, now pulling back her hand from Harry's mouth and slackening her bone-splintering hold on his shoulders.

With an awkward shrug Blaise was about to put the bow to the strings when a fuming Draco Malfoy imposed his presence on the three youths who had been standing there in relative peace. Zabini, however, seemed glad for the interruption and was already trying to inch away now Alex's attention was diverted.

"Ruining the moment," Alex hissed in a dangerously sweet voice to Draco.

"Coffee." He snarled.

"Yes, sweetheart," Alex answered as if speaking to a child as she glanced at Harry's cup, "That's coffee. What about it?"

"He's drinking it!" he spat out again, causing even Zabini to pull a face of complete puzzlement.

"And that's…bad?" the journalist asked tentatively.

Draco took one big step that took him so close to Blaise it appeared for a moment if he was going to kiss him. Instead he sneered, "Do you see me drinking any coffee? No? Exactly! Because he's drinking it!"

Now he was looking at Harry instead, a madman's look on his handsome features, "That's the last coffee, 'cause the machine's empty. And he's drinking it!"

On the faces of both the three youngsters manifested such incredulous look as they stared at the distressed Malfoy heir. Alex and Harry met eyes, both arching their right eyebrow.

"Can somebody say 'addict'?" Harry stated sarcastically, eying Malfoy still carefully.

Blaise had put a comforting arm around his friend's neck, as if trying to soothe some wild creature. "Potter, I think it is time for you to blow this Popsicle stand, before my friend here decides to fight you over that drink. Believe me, he would."

"O-kay," Harry answered, backing away as told and heading for the staircase, all the while thinking 'weirdo's'.

Draco, who was seeing the last of the soothing dark liquid he so badly longed for escape his clutches, appeared to be prepared to pounce on Harry's to prevent the latter's escape. But with Blaise's warm, steady and strong arm around him, the blonde was forced to watch how the last of the coffee disappeared with the handsome culprit who went by the name of Harry Potter.

However, he mused, now that his frustration had settled for an ill clenching feeling of disappointment, it was the combination of seeing Potter standing there with coffee that had startled him so. That stupid boy was not supposed to like coffee, oh no, that went entirely at odds with Draco's perfect perspective of how the world worked. Which was a very logical manner of dealing with things, for example; Weasley was the bad kind, Draco loathed Weasley, and the feeling was mutual. Draco loved coffee, Weasley hated it. Simple; good kind, bad kind. There were no variables; Parkinson disliked coffee; so she was the bad-kind. Easy. Then there was Potter; Potter was Weasley's friend, which meant instant bad-kind penalty. But, Potter liked coffee, which should put him in good-kind category. How was such an anomaly possible?

In the end, Draco could come only to one, simple conclusion; "I hate him."

Blaise, who had stacked away his violin much to Alex's disappointment, turned to look at him. "Jaysus, Draco, you are pushing it with this whole coffee-business. Get some Prozac for crying out loud and get on with your life."

"It is not only about the coffee, Zabini." Draco said in clipped tones "I'll have you know that Potter is one of the most insolent, snooty brats I have ever have had the displeasure of meeting. So there!"

"Because he was drinking coffee?" Blaise asked again, a dry looked settling on his tanned features.

"No! Not because of the goddamn coffee!" Draco screeched at his friend, throwing both arms up in frustration, "Because he just is. Can't you see that you daft moron? He's one of those terribly annoying people, who always have a witty comeback and a tendency to turn up just at the moment when you least need them! That's what Potter is! That's why Weasley likes him! That's why I hate him! Capeesh!"

Blaise, looking completely unimpressed, licked his lips contemplatively, almost if he were seriously pondering calling the nut-house.

"Oh-how," Alex murmured in low tones, shuffling to stand closer to Blaise and whispered most conspiratorially, "He's got a new crush, I can tell," Alex confided him, while the Italian was grinning in quite a morbid fashion now, nodding slightly in agreement.

"Yeah, he always did have something for the dark, silent and mysterious kind." He retorted in an equally hushed tone.

Draco looked fit to combust right there and then on the spot. "I'm going to kick your asses so hard you'll be shitting out of your mouth for weeks to come." He roared at them, and instead of getting a red flush, like most people, he got a very ghostly-looking white pallor.

"Tell me Draco, dear," Alex went on unabashed, "Is he the one starring your lonely wet dreams lately?"

This time the blonde actually leapt at his best female friend, who was quick to duck and leap behind Blaise, clinging to him like a shield as Draco cracked his knuckles menacingly.

"Oh, Ladon, you go ahead and hide behind Blaise now." Draco breathed in a husky tone, stalking closer to the human shield Alex pulled back in response, "But one day I'm going to get you. And I'm going to make you suffer. Slowly. Painfully. I'll make you beg for mercy."

"My my, Draco, you make it all sound so romantic." Alex quipped from behind Blaise, still having a firm hold on his dark sweater while pulling him backwards along with her. "But honestly now, what is your sexual interest concerning our new class-mate Harry Potter? Hot or not?"

"Not!" Draco spat at her, trying to jab at Alex whenever she'd pop up from behind Blaise and made a face at him. "How can you even say that? It's a disgrace to the name of Malfoy! Like I'd be interested in some stupid little lap-dog of Weasley's! Bet you he's one big homophobe like the whole bunch of them!"

"How can they be homophobes if Darragh is one of their usual friends?" Blaise put in with his painstakingly kind of logic.

"Because Darragh is an exception!" he said in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious.

Blaise narrowed an eye at him and arched the brow of the other, "Define exception?"

"He always is! Dammit, Zabini, shut up, you're missing the point!" he verbally feinted any more confusing commentary that Blaise could put in.

The violinist just shrugged and let himself be swiveled sideways by Alex to counter one of the blonde's offensives.

"The point is," Draco resumed talking to Alex, "That I would never ever in the whole of my life even think about Potter in even a remotely romantically manner. Got it? So, okay, he's got a wonderful body, and all that, but that's it! Beauty reaches only skin deep you know! The bugger's being all 'look-I'm-so-innocent-and-silent' but in truth he's one of those guys who'd just stab you happily in the back when you'd expose it to them! I couldn't even stand to think about him, wouldn't even touch him with a pole; because I hate him! He's one of those disgustingly two-faced morons that I would very much like to run over with a tank. Okay?"

Alex laughed out loud, burying her face between Blaise's shoulder blades as she did so, unknowingly sending a torrent of shivers down the latter's spine. "Fuck Draco, don't judge the poor guy so soon. From all I know he's a nice guy and perhaps if you'd just try for once, you might see him for what he is. And if you finally do, I'm going to laugh so hard at you because you'll come back and tell me you like him!"

"Like a fucking snowball's chance in hell that is!" Draco snorted at her, "No way that'll ever happen."

"Bet it will," Alex interjected tauntingly. "I bet that by the end of the year –even sooner- you will actually be in love with him!"

Draco broke out in such derisive laughter that even Blaise took an involuntary step backward, "HA! Now that's the most ridiculous thing I have even heard! Good one 'Lex. Fine, let's bet on it." He said amicably turning his hand palms outwards in a surrendering gesture, "I'll bet you to run around naked during this year's graduation, so that if we continue our last year at Hogwart's you'll suffer the every day's humiliation of knowing that your fellow peers have seen you thus and kiss Hermione Granger full on the lips. That is, if I fall for Potter romantically. Which I won't."

"Perfect, blondie. If I win –scratch that- when I win you'll run around naked during graduation and I get to watch in on one of you and your new lovebird's snogging sessions." She suggested slyly, causing Blaise to cough up a dry snigger and shake his head at the comment.

"Never knew you had that kind of fantasies, Alex, but no matter, since it'll never happen. Deal." He stuck out his hand.

Alex glanced wearily from her protector at the proffered limb and reluctantly grabbed it with her own. "Deal." She agreed.

At that moment Draco gave one hard pull on the hand he was now firmly grasping so the dreadlocked woman came flying out from behind Blaise, right into his arms. The playful fight that ensued next had the whole hallway echoing with shrieks and yelps and the two of them rolling over the floor in a flurry of bright yellow and black.

Blaise stood watching them sagely, slurping from a carton of fruit juice, a wily look dancing in his hazel eyes.

---

Title credits go Röyksopp – Eple (just because it's such a cheerful tune).

This chapter has not yet been beta-ed!

So there you go, I have done it. I'm actually very pleased with the results, much better than the old one. But, of course, that might not be how you guys think about it!

Suggestion: LET ME KNOW! ('cause I'm anxious to hear what you think about it)

For those who absolutely hate it: I've posted the old version on my own site. (www dot Silentgate dot com)