The Art of Discreet Note Passing

Summary: On chance, the Gryffindor Dream Team runs into Malfoy & Co. in the halls. A little spat occurs, Harry is brought out of his oblivious state, and Crabbe and Goyle learn a new word.

Rating: G

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that you're familiar with. They belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Brothers....the list goes on. I'm not on that list.

Time line: Sixth year, probably. It really could fit in anywhere during/after the fifth book. The timing really isn't important to this piece. It's stand-alone, really.

Thanks: To Molly, my BETA, who readily agreed to point out if it sucked.

Author's Note: This is a one-shot answer to an "Include this!" challenge. Every few days my friend sends me random challenges and after four months of reading over them, I finally decided to actually write them up. A new one will probably appear every week or two, depending when I receive them. This is not meant to be serious, just a bit of fun! Here are the guidelines...

Include:

-someone saying, "Thank you, Dark Forces, oh, thank you!"

-very sarcastic use of the word 'magnanimity'

-the adjective, 'mellifluous' at least four times

-love letters

The Art of Discreet Note Passing

"That mocking, mellifluous, bint. I hate her."

"Mellifluous?"

"What, don't you know what it is, Hermione?"

"Of course I know what it means, Ronald. I just didn't know that you knew what it meant."

"You two bicker like an old married couple," a third voice teased.

"That line has been used too many times for it to be too offensive, mate."

"Doesn't mean it isn't true, though."

Hermione scoffed. Before Draco would hear what she had to say, though, something heavy fell onto his shoulder and he rolled his eyes, turning to the two rock-like figured behind him. "Do not touch my robe, Crabbe. What do you want?"

"What does mel..mellif...mean?"

"Mellifluous?" Draco asked in an exasperated voice.

"Yeah, yeah. What's mellinolus mean?"

"Again, mellifluous means smooth or sweet. Like..." he paused to think up a quick example for the other boy. "...okay, like, 'Her voice was mellifluous as she sang in the field.'"

"Malfoy fancies himself a poet!" Ron exclaimed with a snort of amusement.

Draco spun around to face the three Gryffindors that had snuck up on him. He sent a hard glare in their direction before settling onto his usual neutral expression. "You're one to talk, Weasley. Really, those poems that you keep sending Granger during Defense Against the Dark Arts? Yes...you know which ones I'm talking about. Those love notes."

"I- I don't– "

The blonde cut Ron off. "Yes, you do. You're not very discreet with your passing of notes. Then again, I can't really expect you to be good at that. It's something like an art. Note passing, I mean. The point is– your poems are pathetic."

Ron was a nice beet red, and Hermione was well on her way to matching his hair color. Harry, on the other hand, looked rather shocked. Apparently he had not noticed any notes being passed between his two best friends and this was definitely news to him. He wasn't too happy about hearing it from Malfoy, though.

Then again, Draco was trying hard not to point and laugh hysterically at the Gryffindor Trio. "How cliché– you two match each other. What next? Going to be wearing matching clothing in and out of school?" Oh, he couldn't resist that, and now his gaze traveled to the wizarding world's very own Boy Wonder: the oblivious idiot. Apparently everyone but him seemed to notice something between Weasel and the mudblood.

Suddenly he was cut out of his train of thought, which jumped the track, plunging the passengers to a fiery death in the ravine below. Ron had apparently gotten back in control of himself. "I don't know how you got a hold of–"

"– you dropped four of them on your way out a few days ago– "

"– anything I wrote, you evil git, but– "

Again, Draco cut him off with a voice dripping of sarcasm. (1) "Fine. I shall remain an evil git. I don't care. Chances are it's much better than being the magnanimous Potter."

It seemed that Ron didn't know what that particular word was. They all stood glaring at each other for a few moments before the red head decided to continue speaking. This never ended well. "And your hair is not natural! There is no possible way for hair to be that color!"

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron strangely, then back at the Slytherin. A picture would have been lovely at that point, but, unluckily, Colin Creevey was no where around at that moment. Still, the two friends couldn't tell whose expression was more amusing. Ron's or Malfoy's.

Draco looked scandalized. "Are you suggesting I dye my hair?"

"You probably infuse it with dark magic or something," Ron countered matter-of-factly.

"That is utter rubbish," the blonde held back a snicker. "Thank you, Dark Forces, oh, thank you!"

This made Crabbe and Goyle chuckle for some unknown reason. They fell silent the moment that Draco, along with the Gryffindors, turned incredulous looks at them.

"Yeah..." Harry trailed off in the silence. "...er– come on, you guys. Good luck tomorrow in the Quidditch game, Malfoy."

Malfoy nodded. "Yeah, you too. I'm winning this time."

"Don't count on it. Come on, Ron," Harry pulled Ron and Hermione past the Slytherins and they disappeared around the next corner.

The two hulks turned to the blonde again. "Hey...Draco, what's, uh, magnig– "

"Shut up, Goyle."

(1) recent studies show that sarcasm is actually a weightless clear substance that, if used in excessive amounts, quite literally drips off of your words. Once it hits the ground, it is attracted to the nearest heat source. Sarcasm, we're sorry to say, is very contagious. No cure exists today.