A/N: Thanks all for bearing with me through this whole messy confused whatsits. There will be another chapter up soon, I promise. But for now...

13


Classes passed in a blurry headache for Hermione, a headache of note-taking and being attentive and worrying about new homework. When Arithmancy, her last class, finally drew to a close, she gave an exhausted sigh of relief. But fate wasn't quite done with her yet---as the frenzy of escaping students poured through the door, the taut seams on her bookbag snapped. She groaned and pushed hair out of her eyes as she knelt, scooping up books and parchment and quills. "Harry, Ron, you don't have to wait for me. I know you're only going to practice Quidditch again anyway," she called over her shoulder.

She was nearly done...in fact, there was only one quill missing. Where was the damn thing, anyway? Aha! There, under that desk. She crawled under the desk to retrieve it and had just snatched it up when she froze---curled up under the next desk, directly in front of her, was a very familiar winged cat.

.

Draco's internal alarm clock was so much easier to manipulate when he was in Animagus form. He could tell himself to go to sleep and wake up in fifteen minutes, and voila! Fifteen minutes later he'd be fully functional. Except, of course, if he wanted to go back to sleep.

At the moment, he really really wanted to go back to sleep. But he knew a five-minute nap was all he could take if he wanted to go steal the Quidditch field from the Gryffindors. Yawning lazily, he got up and trotted into the open to change. Once in human form, he stretched briefly and turned around to see Hermione Granger staring up at him from beneath a desk.

"Bloody hell," she said quietly.

Then a golden mist surrounded her, and she turned into a golden cat with silver-tipped wings.

Malfoys never lose composure. "Hello, Mala. Or Granger, whichever you prefer. I'm sorry I can't stay to hear whatever explanation you've got for this damned mess, but I simply must go manipulate some of your fellow Gryffindors." With a swirl of his cloak, he swept out of the room.

Malfoys always exit with flair.


Draco was hurrying down the corridor, away from the insanity, trying not to think about anything until he had time, when he heard a certain Gryffindor calling after him. "MALFOY! MALFOY, WAIT!"

Oh, Merlin. He debated the pros and cons of breaking into a run--while it would get him away from the immediacy of the problem, it would be undignified and make Mala...Granger...even madder when they did work things out.

He deliberated a moment too long--a hand clutched at his sleeve and a breathless voice demanded to know just what he was thinking, running off like that, they had to work things out and the Gryffindors had the field booked anyway.

Turning slowly, he gave her the Malfoy Glare. "What is there to work out, anyway? I have nothing to say to you."

She seemed curiously unfazed by either the Malfoy Glare or the Malfoy Tone. "Don't be silly. I can't trust you to keep my secret, and you can't trust me. We need some sort of truce."

"Malfoys...are...not...silly! And I can trust you--you're a Gryffindor," he smirked confidently.

"And? It's not as if Gryffindors are automatically paragons of virtue. I might let something slip if you ever annoyed me."

Indeed, she looked remarkably Slytherin for a Gryffindor at the moment. How sure was he that she'd refrain from telling someone--and with no good reason to do so?




Thanks to RebelRikki for prodding me out of writer's block! =) It's short, I know, but at least it's something.