Chapter 6

Draco entered the Great Hall. He approached the Slytherin table, and noticed that a small boy, probably a first year was sitting nervously on Draco's usual seat. He frowned a little at this. The boy looked up at him, eyes widening. Draco made a motion as if to wave him off the chair, and the boy toppled off and scrambled away, just as if Draco had shouted a Banishing Spell at him. Draco cast an amused glance at the boy before sitting down with a sigh. It was yet another dinner that he would have to sit through without breaking down in tears. He shuddered at the thought of the consequences of that.

And yet, he mused, it's Friday today. The week just flew by... He wasn't entirely sure if he was being sarcastic. Sometimes it felt like time could go no slower, and yet at other times, it seemed like he just flitted from class to class, an insignificant spirit who nobody paid attention to.

He reached for the beef stew, ladled some into his bowl, and mechanically began to eat. Scoop, bite, chew, chew, chew, swallow. He heard a voice on his right.

"What are you doing here, Mudblood?" Pansy sneered. Draco looked up. Hermione Granger was standing next to him. She gave him a searching look, her brow furrowed. He suddenly realized that his mouth was open. He snapped it shut and arranged his face into what he hoped was a sneer.

"What do you want, Granger?"

She handed Draco a small piece of parchment, folded in half. Draco took it, casting a suspicious look at her.

"What's this, a love letter?" he asked scathingly. The Slytherins nearby laughed loudly and made whistling sounds. Draco raised his hand slightly to silence them.

Hermione spoke calmly. "Actually, it's a request."

Amidst the shocked stares of his housemates, Draco motioned for her to follow him outside the Great Hall. Then he unfolded the parchment.

Malfoy,

Harry needs to take the N.E.W.T. Potions class so he can get the job he wants. But, as I'm sure you've noticed, he needs help passing the class. He asked me if I could help him but I don't really feel I'm the best one to tutor him. I can understand the concepts on my own, but I don't know how to explain them. We both know that you're better than me at Potions; you're possibly the best in our year,—Draco raised his eyebrows at this—and I was wondering if you could tutor Harry instead. Please consider this. I know it means a lot to him.

Draco lifted his eyes from the parchment to stare at her. "And what makes you think I'll do this, huh?" Hermione pursed her lips. Draco knew she was choosing her words.

"Well, it's really your choice, Malfoy. But bear in mind, if you don't give it a shot, I might just let a certain something slip."

Draco stared at her in horror. He knew she was talking about what she found out on the train going to Hogwarts. "You wouldn't..." he said hoarsely.

"Oh I just might, you know," she said with maddening superiority.

"Are you blackmailing me?"

"Why yes, I am," she said, amused. "Glad you caught on."

He paused for a while, weighing his options. Then he realized he had no choice.

This is the same girl who slapped you in the face back in 3rd year, remember? He thought.

"When?"

"Tonight at 8. On the seventh floor, in the room across the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy."

Draco looked at her, frowning. She looked back at him, holding his gaze.

"Okay."

She beamed at him before leaving to go to the Gryffindor Tower. Draco made his way to the dungeons, thinking that were he in his right mind, he would never have consented to such a request. That must be it. I'm going completely insane.

................................................................................................................................................

Harry sat on the couch in front of the fire, which was crackling merrily at him, as though telling him in a Mary Poppins tone of voice, "Everything looks better over ice cream!"

"Save it for someone who cares," he muttered. His stomach rumbled in protest. "I am not hungry," he said loudly. "And I do not need ice cream!"

A few second years nearby gave him alarmed looks. His face burned red.

Great going, Potter. You've just convinced them that you're absolutely mental. Talking to fires now, eh? an annoying voice piped in his head.

I am mental, he thought desperately. "I'm mental," he muttered to his knees.

"You're not mental," Hermione said firmly. She had just climbed out of the portrait hole and was striding towards him. "By the way, remember when you asked me to tutor you in Potions? Well I decided I'm not really the right person to teach you because I don't really know how to teach I mean I can understand the concept but I can't explain it so I asked someone else and they agreed so you can meet together later in the Room of Requirement at eight. Oh yeah, it's Malfoy." She said this all in one breath, probably because she felt that it might lessen the shock a little.

Harry gaped at her. "You're mental!"

"I most certainly am not!" Hermione said, with such an affronted look on her face that Harry had to laugh. But then he realized the meaning of what she had just said, and glared at her.

"What were you thinking Hermione?! You expect me to get along with that... that... fag?!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Fag?"

"Well he is!" Harry said hotly. "It's so obvious. Look at the way he swaggers and the clothes he wears. They're all so suave, so Malfoy, so gay."

Hermione laughed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you fancied him."

"I most certainly do not!" It was Harry's turn to look affronted. Hermione collapsed into giggles.

"You have no idea how gay that sounded." Harry fought to suppress a smile.

"Okay fine then. I'll do it," he said, as though resigned to the worst. And then, as though as an afterthought, "I am mental."

Hermione sighed, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Ah, the joys of matchmaking." She ducked as Harry made to swat her.