Time hurtled further and further towards what was now becoming known as the Event of the Year: 'Romeo and Juliet – The Greatest Story of All Time!' Mostly because of the fierce promotion that was taking place under Professor Clarence's supervision.

Posters, banners, bookmarks, drinks coasters and personalised invitations were created, using designs that delightfully interwove the colours of Slytherin and Gryffindor – but not in a Christmassy way, you understand.

Professor Clarence wanted the house-elves to wear promotional sandwich boards, but even they thought that was going a bit far. Some enterprising First Years said they'd do it, but their fees were so exorbitant she sent them to detention for attempted extortion.

The advertising was heavily distributed around Hogwarts and sent out to the parents. One could barely move throughout the castle without encountering them. This was thanks to Peeves, who'd discovered Professor Clarence's apparently never-ending promo stash and was joyfully distributing them up, down, around and all over Hogwarts.

House elves enthusiastically cleaned them up every night – only to be thrilled to discover more the next day. And the day after that. And the day after – well, you get my point.

Any hope that Hermione and Draco's parents might not attend the play were dashed when Professor Clarence informed the class that those parents who had not yet RSVP'd to their invitations would be sent Howlers 'reminding' them to do so. These would continue every day until they either caved in or banged on the door to St Mungo's, begging to be let in.

Hogwart's own Hospital Wing saw steady business with students who had banged heads, stubbed toes, twisted ankles, fallen down stairs, fallen off stairs, were beaten up by people who had been banged into, failed to dodge wayward hexes and even fallen off brooms because they were wandering around the school with their noses stuck in a play script, frantically trying to remember their lines.

But despite Professor Clarence's private wishes, Hogwarts did have a few other things to be going on with - trifles such as O.W.L.S, N.E.W.T.S, the various festivals the school celebrated, and not to mention the Quidditch Cup Final - between Gryffindor and Slytherin, once more.

Which was being played today.

Draco was sitting on the window seat in ripped jeans and a dark grey fitted t-shirt, watching the sun rise when Hermione woke up. A mug of coffee was cupped between his hands.

Hermione sniffed appreciatively. 'Hmm, yum.'

'Yes, I know.' Draco grinned with mock humility and buffed his nails against his shirt.

'I meant the coffee,' she laughed. 'But I will concede you look almost as good as that coffee smells.'

''Almost?''

'Well, you make truly wonderful coffee.'

Draco preened. 'One of my many talents.'

'Is there any left?' she asked hopefully.

'Sorry, there was only enough for one cup.'

Her face fell.

He chuckled. 'Just kidding. I would never deny you a cup of Malfoy's Magnificent Brew.'

She brightened. 'Oh, goody!'

She sat up in bed as Draco levitated a mug of hot, rich, creamy coffee from the kitchenette to her waiting hands. She took a sip and closed her eyes in bliss. 'Oh, yeah, that's the stuff.'

She studied her boyfriend as he idly looked up at the sky. His goatee was coming in nicely. She was a little worried that his pale colouring would quash any decent attempt at developing facial hair that was actually visible to an audience, but it was happily sprouting away in a blonde that was darker than his hair. He looked a bit like that gorgeous chap in the movie Robin Hood: Men in Tights, Hermione thought deliciously.

Draco scratched his beard absently.

'Good flying weather?'

He gave her a lazy smile. 'I've got a good feeling about today.'

She smirked. 'You know for the first time ever, I'll be happy no matter which team wins.'

He mocked glared at her.

'But officially, I'm still one hundred percent Gryffindor. So I'll be sitting with them in the stands. And I'll have to pretend to be disappointed if Slytherin wins.'

He shook his finger at her. 'You're fickle, that's your trouble.'

'Fickle?' Hermione put her cup down, pulled the bed sheets aside, climbed out of bed and walked slowly towards him - in the nude.

Draco's mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.

'I can't have you thinking I'm fickle,' she purred. 'So how about this? You know how you wanted to try…something… and I wasn't sure if I was ready? If Slytherin wins the Cup, we'll try it… tonight.' She leaned down and kissed him.

He swallowed with difficulty. 'And, um, if Gryffindor wins?' he said hoarsely.

She fixed him with a look. 'No sex for a week.'

'What the actual fuck?'

'Two weeks.'

'Okay, okay!' He'd better quit while he was ahead. Or, more accurately, behind.

'Agreed?' she asked.

Oh, the agony of choice. He stuck out his hand. 'Agreed.'

They shook hands.

Draco climbed off the window seat and gathered Hermione in his arms. 'I take it the bet is not yet in effect?' he murmured, kissing his way lightly down her neck.

'Actually,' she said breathlessly, 'it's been known that abstaining from sex before a big game really helps the players focus on winning.'

'Uh-huh.' Draco was only half-listening.

'I think you should try it.'

'Wha-?' Draco paused, lips on her nipple.

She gently but firmly pulled herself out his grasp. 'It's an important game, love. I want you to have every advantage.'

Draco looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon. 'Babe, you can see what positon I'm in.'

She looked down at his jeans, stretched uncomfortably across his crotch. She gave him a sheepish smile. 'Sorry. But I really, really, want you to win.'

Draco glared at her. She looked innocently back.

After a good silence, he gave up. 'I'm going to have a cold shower, apparently.'

Hermione bit her lip to hide her smile as he stomped out of the bedroom.

It was a beautiful day, crisp and cold. The Quidditch stands were jam-packed with hordes of braying, chanting and screaming Hogwarts students and faculty. Not that the faculty were at the braying, chanting or screaming stage, yet.

The goalposts stood out in relief against the azure sky. No clouds, no fog, no gale-force winds, no Dementor mists – it was a day born for flying, according to Blaise Zabini, commentator for the match.

Hermione, settling into the stands with Lavender, Parvati, Luna and Neville, saw Blaise in the commentary box, making adjustments to the equipment. Daphne Greengrass was sitting next to him, giggling as he leaned over and whispered something undoubtedly inappropriate in her ear.

Professor Snape was sitting nearby, and it looked like he was already developing a tic in his eye thanks to the proximity of the Greengrass girl in relation to Zabini's crotch. But to give the Professor his due, thought Hermione wryly, he usually gave his victim enough rope to hang themselves with before he let loose with his sharp tongue, blistering wit and mind-boggling talent for imaginative punishments.

If I were a betting woman, mused Hermione, Snape will have evicted Daphne from the commentary box within an hour… wait! She smirked to herself. I am a betting woman…

Neville noticed Hermione's smirk. 'So, 'Mione! Expecting an overwhelming victory for Gryffindor, then?' he said, rubbing his hands together.

She adjusted her Gryffindor scarf and pulled her beanie over her ears. 'Oh, who knows, Neville? As long as the best team wins, I'll be happy.'

Neville pondered this rather evasive statement, but deduced that since the best team was obviously Gryffindor, it amounted to the same thing.

Lavender and Parvati spent their time giggling together, waving madly at people around the stands, and for some reason, glaring at Daphne in the commentary box, who seemed, from her elevated state, to be sitting on Blaise's lap. Luna sat between Neville and Hermione, dreamily looking at things in the sky no-one else could see.

A slightly strangled announcement from Blaise heralded the entry of the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams into the centre of the pitch. Everyone leapt to their feet, waving and cheering – Hermione and her friends included; (most of) the faculty exempted.

Hermione crossed her fingers and sent a silent prayer to Draco. She wasn't sure if she could bear two weeks without sex with him, either. She watched him stride out onto the pitch at the head of his team, acknowledging the cheers from the Slytherin sector with grace – especially when compared to Crabbe and Goyle, who were doing an accurate impression of gorillas facing off before beating the living snot out of each other. Their fans went wild.

Draco looked around the stands, a blur of house colours in scarves and hats, but he found who he was looking for in the Gryffindor sector soon enough. Their eyes met. Neither smiled, nor mouthed any words. But that quick, intense look somehow conveyed everything they meant to each other, and it made Hermione literally feel weak at the knees.

I want to be with him, always.

Luna's mittened hand crept into Hermione's and squeezed gently. Startled, Hermione turned her head and found that Luna's otherworldly eyes were focussed on her. She smiled at Hermione.

On the pitch, Draco's reaction was similar to Hermione's. He swallowed and drew in a deep breath, looking at the ground.

I can't live without her now.

He was jostled by a terribly upbeat person saying 'Wake up, sleepyhead!' Draco looked up and wasn't the least bit surprised to see Ginny Weasley grinning in front of him, jumping and down and swinging her arms around dangerously.

'You've got too much to worry about with your team than to be concerned about me,' he ribbed, smirking, but not meanly.

'Let me think, Malfoy, which house has won more Quidditch Cups than any other?' She cupped her ear and leaned forward. 'Hmm?'

Draco's smirk turned into a laugh. 'How will it feel for you to be on the losing team this year?'

Ginny opened her mouth to retort back, but was flattened by a charging gorilla called Crabbe. She shrieked as he pinned her to the ground. Boos echoed around the stand.

'Hey!' Draco lunged for Crabbe, pulling him off Ginny as Harry and Ron sprinted over to her rescue. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'What the fuck, man?' Ron jabbed his finger repeatedly into Crabbe's not inconsiderable chest. Judging by his skin colour, Draco estimated, Ron was about seventy-five percent of the way towards a full-blown loss of control of his fists. 'Leave my sister alone, asshole!'

Crabbe was a tad nonplussed. He thought he'd get a lot of cheers for his stunt, Merlin knows why, and he certainly wasn't expecting Malfoy to take Weaselette's side. 'I-I-'

Harry repositioned Ron so he was pointing away from Crabbe. 'Let it go, mate. We can't risk anyone getting sent off before the game even starts. Just focus on the game, all right?'

'That fucking animal!' spluttered Ron as he stomped back to Ginny.

Mesdames Hooch and Pomfrey strode up with their professional frowns on. Madam Pomfrey knelt by Ginny, who was sitting up and looking well pissed off. Madam Hooch barked 'Crabbe, Malfoy and Potter!' and waited for the three to sidle up to her while she tapped her foot and crossed her arms.

'Crabbe!' she spat, and the boy stepped forward; half-defiant, half-sheepish; all stupid.

'If that incident is an example of how you plan to conduct yourself in the air, I will have you grounded!'

As Hooch ranted, Draco prayed to every god he knew that a miracle would happen and he'd be able to captain a complete team against Gryffindor, who even he admitted were pretty damn good.

'Malfoy?'

'Wha-yes! Er, I'm totally disappointed in Crabbe's behaviour. All I can think of is that it was a momentary loss of judgement due to being overwhelmed by the excitement of this game. I'll see to it that he maintains discipline in the air, Madam, if you'll let him play,' he said as humbly as he could. (Which, for a Malfoy, wasn't that much, to be honest).

Hooch glared at him.

Harry cleared his throat and said 'Madam Hooch, Ginny was only surprised by the tackle, rather than hurt.' They all looked over to where Ginny was now upstanding and talking animatedly with the other Gryffindor players. Madam Pomfrey had disappeared. 'It looked like hi-jinks rather than a deliberate intent to harm. I think sending Crabbe off at this point might be a bit harsh.' He looked down at his feet and pushed his glasses up his nose. 'Um, in my opinion.'

Both of Draco's eyebrows threatened to go into orbit.

Hooch sighed. 'All right. But' – she added as Draco left Crabbe's whoop and high five hanging – 'I will have my eyes on you, Crabbe. You even breathe wrong – I'll send you off. Understand?' she snarled.

Crabbe nodded. 'Yes, Madam.'

She turned to Draco. 'You?'

'Yes, Madam.'

Due to Blaise's exceptional eyesight, and despite distractions from Daphne, he'd deduced that Crabbe wouldn't be sent off, after all. He relayed this information to the crowd, who received it with mixed emotions: Slytherin cheered and yahooed; everyone else booed.

'Right! Everyone in your places!' Hooch waved both teams to the centre of the pitch. Standing next to Draco and Harry with the ball box hopping excitedly around her ankles, she said 'As always, I want a good, CLEAN game' – she glared at Crabbe – 'played according to the rules. Captains, shake hands' – she nodded to Draco and Harry, who shook hands and nodded to each other – 'good luck, and may the best team win!'

With that, she honked on her whistle and opened the box. She threw the quaffle up, and the balls took to the sky with the two teams in hot pursuit.

It was a physically and mentally demanding game; one that Draco felt keenly, despite his fitness. Both teams, as always, were determined to win; and while one side may have been strong in one aspect of the game, the other was strong in a different aspect. It was pretty much even-stevens.

Blaise was kept on his toes commentating the fast-paced game. He only hiccupped a couple of times throughout the match – the first time, he was caught short when play re-started after a whistle blow quicker than he expected, and was discovered by Snape with his tongue in Daphne's mouth.

The second time was when he gave commentary while Daphne, on her knees before him, gave him quite a professional blow-job. His voice rose at least five octaves when Daphne reached a culmination, so to speak, but when Snape glared at him suspiciously, he pretended to cough and asked if he could have some water.

Snape transfigured a nearby and unobservant student's beanie into a water-filled glass and handed it over without comment.

Hermione observed this transaction a little glumly. She, and no doubt Professor Snape, had a good idea what was going on when Daphne disappeared from view for about ten minutes. If Snape wasn't going to kick Daphne out for engaging in lewd conduct in a public place, Hermione may well have lost her bet with herself.

I hope this isn't an omen, she thought. She couldn't bring herself to cheer for Slytherin, even inside her head, but she redoubled her prayers for Draco to win – while cheering for Gryffindor at the same time. While feeling guilty about wanting Gryffindor – with three of her best friends on the team – to lose.

Is this how multiple personalities start? She wondered.

Meanwhile, back in the air, the score was equal, and had been in deadlock for an hour. The elusive snitch was doing what it did best – being elusive – and Draco was trying to split himself in three by keeping one eye out for the tiny ball, one eye on Harry, and another on Crabbe to make sure he didn't do anything stupid.

Obviously this is very difficult when you only have two eyes.

Ginny flew towards him with her tongue poking out. He smirked and flipped her the bird. He heard her laughter as she soared past to a spot above and behind him.

He scanned the area once more for the snitch, noting that Harry was hunting near Ron's goalposts and Crabbe was usefully occupied evading a bludger.

Suddenly, he heard a scream that tore right through his heart. Whipping around, he saw Ginny plummeting towards the ground, screaming in terror, her robes flapping wildly in the wind.

He found himself diving towards her before his brain had fully processed what was going on. He gave his broom everything it had, hurtling towards the terrified girl. She saw him approach, her eyes huge with fright and streaming with tears, her freckles visible in stark contrast against her ashen skin. Dimly he heard other noises around him – screams, Hooch's whistle going full tilt, Blaise's voice raised in shock – but all he registered was the whistle of the wind, the harsh chill of the air, and Ginny's beautiful hair rippling around her terrified face.

The ground was approaching all too soon. Draco kicked the broom forward once more, stretching out towards her. He only had one chance to intercept her before it was too late. His quick mind was processing the best way to approach her as concentrated on closing the distance between them. He couldn't grab one of her hands; she was wearing gloves and they might come off. He couldn't grab one of her forearms; like the gloves, he might pull the guards off instead. How in Circe's name was he going to catch her?

By her hair?

Think harder, Draco, he berated himself.

He edged along his broom until he was nearly at the edge and clamped the rest of the broomstick between his thighs, crossing his feet over to give him balance and control.

'Come on, come on,' he prayed as he neared.

He let the broom go with both hands.

He grabbed hold of the front of her robe with his left hand, his strongest. Pulling her towards him with all his might, he wrapped his other arm around her shoulder blades. Using the speed he'd accumulated, he yanked his broom up and they soared upwards in a wide circle while he used the momentum to pull her onto his broom. Shaking, she clamped her arms and legs tightly around him while babbling 'omigod omigod omigod' non-stop.

He kept his arm tight around the trembling girl as he began to slow the broom. 'It's okay, Red,' he said into her ear. 'I won't let you go.'

Ginny's prayers dwindled, but she was crying heavily, sobbing while trying to breathe in great big lungfuls of air.

He started his descent, only now noticing he was being flanked by Harry and Ron, who were both as white as ghosts. The noise from the stands jolted him – thunderous cheers and applause, with Blaise, the professional, still providing commentary, the relief in his voice plain to hear.

Draco reached the ground, and was met by a mob of people. Harry, Ron and Madam Hooch were the first. The other Quidditch players had also descended, and kept a close yet respectful distance away. Madam Pomfrey and Professors McGonagall and Snape hurried onto the pitch, Snape accio-ing Ginny's broom as he approached. Professor Dumbledore made his way there more sedately, and was quickly overtaken by Hermione, Lavender, Parvati, Neville and Luna.

'Hey.' Draco nudged Ginny, who was still clinging to him like a red-haired marsupial. 'Your free ride's over, kid.'

Harry and Ron gently disentangled Ginny from Draco and sat her on the ground, holding her hands and wiping the tears from her eyes while she shook like a leaf. Madam Pomfrey arrived and checked Ginny over. She administered a dose of Calming Draught, accio'ed some warm blankets to wrap around Ginny and made arrangements to transport Ginny back to the castle to take care of the whiplash she received when Draco pulled her onto his broom.

'What the hell happened, Gin?' Ron asked, pacing back and forth in agitation.

'Now probably isn't the best time' – started Harry.

'Did you get hit by something? Did someone push you?' He whirled on Crabbe. 'Did you do this to her?' he shouted furiously.

Crabbe smarted. 'I had nothing to do with it, Weasel!'

'Mr Weasley' – began Professor McGonagall.

'I fell off,' Ginny said numbly.

Ron scoffed. 'You? That's ridiculous! You were practically born riding a broom.'

'I don't remember how I fell off. I just fell off, all right?' she snapped, albeit not with her usual vigour.

'I think I might be able to shed some light on the situation,' drawled Professor Snape. He glanced at the broom he was holding. 'Ms Weasley's broom is defective.'

A shocked gasp rippled around the group.

Realisation dawned on Ginny. 'I had it in the shop a while ago because it would drop out from me unexpectedly. I thought they fixed it, those buggers.'

'Whether it be poor workmanship or not, I recommend to you, Ms Weasley, that this broom be consigned to the flames.'

'With pleasure.' Ginny replied, glaring at the now-condemned broom.

Ginny's transport had arrived, and she stood up shakily, with the help of Harry and Ron. She took a couple of steps towards it, but stopped and turned around, then walked with trembling knees to Draco. A gasp sounded from every direction when she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.

This time, he didn't feel the need to extricate himself as soon as humanly possible. He returned the hug, smoothing down her hair as it flew about in the breeze. Realising that like this, it was easy to think she was like a little sister to him.

She broke the embrace, then, standing on tip-toes, kissed him on the cheek. With a small smile, she nodded, winced, turned and shuffled back to Madam Pomfrey.

Harry touched her shoulder gently as she went past, then he, too, made his way over to Draco. He stuck out his hand. Draco took it, and Harry cuffed him gently on his shoulder. Draco did the same.

'Thank you,' Harry said simply. The catch in his voice was evident.

Under Harry's glare, Ron shuffled up to Draco, too. Holding out a slightly shaking hand to Draco, he said 'Uh. Yeah. Thanks. For saving her.'

Draco would never have thought this day would come, but he stretched his hand out and shook Ron's briefly. 'Yeah, all right, then.'

'Yeah.'

They all stepped back, embarrassed.

Draco looked at Hermione, who was standing with her Gryffindor friends. She did her best to give him a smile, but her lips were wobbling too much from the effort to hold back tears of fright, relief and love. They spilled anyway, and Draco watched with impotent envy as Longbottom drew her into his arms and comforted her.

'Um, Madam Hooch,' said Goyle, with as much respect as he could muster up. 'I don't want to sound insensitive, but what's going to happen with the game now?'

Madam Hooch came to a start, as if she'd forgotten all about the game. 'I don't suppose you caught the snitch?' she asked Harry, without much hope.

He shook his head.

Hooch sighed and turned to Snape to Dumbledore. They wandered off a few paces and put their heads together.

A few minutes later, the huddle broke and Professor Dumbledore stepped out into the centre of the pitch. Putting his wand to his throat, he announced to the hushed crowd 'My dear students, what a game this has been! Thankfully, tragedy was avoided thanks to the quick thinking and actions of your Head Boy, who saved the life of a player on the opposing team!'

Draco, to his embarrassment, felt himself flush. He pretended to inspect a spot on his broomstick.

'I had hoped to see inter-school unity develop this year, after all the trials and tribulations of our pasts. And what better display of comradeship could be found in Mr Malfoy's actions, and the thanks given him by Ms Weasley, her family and friends?'

Gods, this is agonising. Wrap it up, old man, thought Draco.

'As you are aware, the game score is currently tied, and the snitch has not been found. Well, actually' – Dumbledore searched around his voluminous robes – 'I have it here.' He held up the snitch, which was peacefully snoozing in his fingers.

The crowd gasped.

'In the event of a tie, the snitch is called home,' he explained. 'It's just been a long time since a tie was called in a Cup final.' He scratched his temple. 'In fact, I don't think we've ever had a tie situation at all. But never mind! Who's to say we can't?'

Rumbling rippled around the stands as everyone digested this.

'So, considering the circumstances, I believe it is right to declare a tied game, and I am pleased, very pleased, to announce that the joint winners of the Quidditch Cup are: Gryffindor and Slytherin!'

The crowd went bananas, the team members jumped up and down and hugged each other, Professors Snape and McGonagall shared an infinitesimal grin, and Draco and Harry just stood there, barely taking it all in.

A flashbulb exploded in their eyes, bringing them back to (blind) reality. 'Come along boys,' urged Madam Hooch, prodding them towards Professor Dumbledore, who (magically, of course) was wielding the enormous cup. They stumbled along, still suffering the after-effects of the flash.

Professor Dumbledore shook Harry's hand first and spoke his congratulations, then beckoned Draco forward.

As the Headmaster shook Draco's hand, he leaned forward and said quietly, with a kind smile: 'I'm extremely proud of the man you've become, Mr Malfoy.'

Draco was struck dumb. Was the warm feeling spreading through his chest and making his eyes shimmer with tears what a son should feel when receiving the highest praise from his father?

He didn't know.

All Draco could do was nod, and look into Professor Dumbledore's wise eyes. He couldn't speak.

Dumbledore passed the cup to the two boys, who each grasped a handle and raised it proudly high, to the deafening cheers of the spectators.

Then as if a dam had burst, a human wave washed over the pitch, and soon the two teams were swamped by hugs, cheers and high-fives. Hermione hugged everyone in the Gryffindor team crazily, and took advantage of the mania to wrap her arms around Draco and hug him tightly, if albeit briefly.

'You could have died,' she whispered.

'Too much to live for,' he whispered back.

'So hey, what are we going to do about the celebratory party?' Harry wondered aloud. 'Seems a bit dumb to have separate parties in Gryffindor and Slytherin.'

Draco looked at Hermione. 'Well, Head Girl, what do you suggest?'

'Me?' Hermione was briefly taken aback. 'Oh. Well, I guess, if it's all right with the Professors, of course' –

'Get on with it, Granger!' an anonymous voice shouted.

She rolled her eyes. 'We should have a combined party in the Great Hall. So there!' she yelled back to the heckler.

'What do the Heads of House think?' asked Dumbledore.

Professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick looked at each other and nodded, some more enthusiastically than others.

Dumbledore happily proclaimed via his amplified wand that the Quidditch House Cup celebration would be held in the Great Hall that very evening.

Everyone went bananas again.

As parties went, it was a very jolly occasion. Some senior students might have been miffed at the lack of alcohol, but everyone else let their hair down and partied like mad.

To everyone's delight, Ginny attended for a short while, looking rather knackered but very pleased to put in an appearance. She hated missing out on parties.

Hermione was perusing the party from a quiet corner, with half a Prefect's eye out for mischief, when Draco approached her. Standing side-by-side, clutching mugs of Butterbeer, they looked every inch the professional Head Boy and Head Girl.

'You look stunning, love,' said Draco quietly.

She did. With her hair pinned up (always guaranteed to get a reaction from him now), wearing a dark red sleeveless A-line dress that draped from a silver collar and ended just above her knees, accompanied by high-heeled Roman sandal-styled shoes, she looked both beautiful and older than her eighteen years.

She smiled into her Butterbeer. 'So do you.' Earlier, she'd watched him change into black dress trousers and an open-necked silver shirt that tapered over his toned waist perfectly and drew attention to his eyes. She'd been waiting hours for the opportunity to rip it off him.

So she told him that, in a low voice while raising an eyebrow at a couple of Fourth-Year boys who were acting the goat.

Even over the music and clamour of the partygoers, she could hear him swallow. He wasn't drinking.

'About that bet,' he started. 'Since there was a tie, what happens now?'

'Well…' she pretended to think. Then, on the pretext of pointing something out to him, she leaned over and breathed in his ear 'Put it this way. You may not have seen earlier, but I'm not wearing any underwear.' She pulled back. 'Does that answer your question?' she asked brightly.

'Oh Gods…'

'Well! Guess I'll see you later, Malfoy!' Hermione waggled her fingers at him and strode off, her hips swinging in time with her high-heeled steps.

Malfoy, meanwhile, stayed in the corner until he got his erection under control.

It was very hard. Pun intended.