CHAPTER 3

Lavender did her best to ignore the scruffy figure that remained at her side. For five long minutes she succeeded by focusing on everything she could have been doing.

Her friends were surely in Hogsmead already, shelling out countless galleons for the latest fashions. Pavarati had offered to bring her back the robe she'd seen in their Teen Witch catalogue, but Lavender declined. Shopping for an outfit was the best part.

Determined to not dwell on what eluded her, Lavender focused instead on the ragged git sharing her bench.

Harry had never been much of a looker, in her opinion, but he certainly had potential. His thick black hair, reeking of teen angst, could be brushed back and molded into the stuff of Witch Weekly bachelors. With some cheery polo shirts and kakis, he might even be attractive.

But his personality…there was an obstacle to overcome. Some level of bitterness was to be expected after what he'd been through, but his behavior bordered on cruelty.

She stared at his leather clad back and wondered just how many secrets he held inside.

Lavender screwed up her courage and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Psst," she whispered. "Harry."

"Psst, Lavender."

"I was wondering," she began, "why Draco got so mad when you asked about his mother."

Harry laughed. He showed reverence for the situation by pausing to think, since Harry rarely thought about anything.

"Well, it's kind of complicated…." He hesitated and started to turn away.

"Harry, we've got seven and a half hours. It can't possibly take longer than that to explain. At least, not if you use small words."

"No," he sighed, "but you're missing the point. When somebody doesn't want to talk about something they say 'It's a long story,' or 'It's complicated.' See?"

"Oh."

Lavender looked away, knowing that Harry now thought her completely retarded. That's how it usually happened – she would try to make polite conversation and confuse her words or prove herself naïve of some well-known social fact.

She returned to thoughts of shopping in order to avoid making a bigger fool of herself.

Harry saw her dejected stare and quickly replied, "Of course, I haven't got anything better to do, so I may as well tell you."

"You don't have to," she said. "Not if you don't want to." He offered to make her feel better, but it only increased her embarrassment. Lavender hated to be pitied for stupidity.

"No, no, I want to."

By then their voices had risen far above their original whisper and the other three students listened intently.

"For the last time, Potter – leave her alone."

Draco had heard the last part of their conversation and took Lavender's sad expression to mean that she was being picked on.

He stood, robes in an angry flourish, and stormed back to his original seat. Meanwhile, Potter lowered his voice and continued the apparent harassment.

"Did you hear me, shit head? Leave her alone!"

Draco shoved him sideways, away from Lavender, and continued pushing until Potter was forced to stand up.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Potter protested, now backed against a wall. "So fuck off."

"Draco, wait," Lavender finally said. "He wasn't bothering me; we were just talking. I promise he wasn't bothering me."

"What could you possibly have to talk about with this filthy rat?" Draco indicated the Potter, whom he held up by the collar.

Lavender stammered, her eyes once more riveted on the ground.

"I…uh…see, Draco, don't get mad or anything….I just asked about your mother."

Without warning Harry received a direct punch to the jaw. He slumped to the floor while Draco walked calmly to a window, shaking the fist still clenched at his side.

Hermione screamed and rushed to Harry's side. Ron watched a hint of concerning dawning on him.

Hermione knelt beside her injured friend, tears of fear threatening to escape at any moment. She was too distraught to notice Lavender come over. That is, until a manicured hand reached out to brush Harry's face.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry Harry!" Lavender cried. "This is all my fault! I'm the worst at keeping secrets!"

Instantly Hermione resented her presence, feeling that Lavender's tears were false, and that she was actually excited by the conflict she had caused.

Harry's eyes fluttered open, ignoring the blonde and turning immediately to the familiar bushy head.

"That kinda hurt," he smiled weakly. "Hey Hermione, do you still hate me?"

"Do I hate you?" she asked, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief. "Of course not!"

"Then what was the deal earlier, when you gave me the cold shoulder?"

"Cold shoulder?"

"Yeah, and why do you keep repeating everything I say?"

"Repeating?" She laughed at Harry's frustration. Lavender shook her head and left, obviously unimpressed with their witty banter.

"So," Harry said, "does this mean that you love me? Because logically if you don't hate me…." He leaned in while she remained kneeling, resulting in a rather awkward moment where Harry was on all fours. He lost his balance upon attempting to kiss Hermione and they both ended up on the floor. She swatted at him playfully.

"Hey, I thought we decided that you love me! Why am I not feelin' the tenderness?"

"Oh, come off it already. We both know there's nothing left between us. And besides," she continued, "you were only ever in it for the sex."

"I resent that," Harry said. "However true it may be."

"Look Harry, I do love you, just not in a sexual way. There's more to us than that – there always has been. We're meant to be friends, not lovers. Remember how much fun we had when you weren't so focused on getting into my pants?"

"I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but that was never longer than two minutes a day."

Both had to laugh at that, which eased Hermione's tension from having to discuss such a fragile topic. Unfortunately, it also pronounced the stabbing pain in Harry's head.

"Dammit," he said.

"What, friends isn't good enough for you?" Hermione asked.

"Nah, the friends thing is great; it's this fucking jaw that's bothering me," he explained. "I oughta kill that bastard Malfoy."

Harry shifted as if to get up, but a combination of pain and Hermione kept him sedate.

Draco had to truly admire that mudblood, Granger. No, he corrected himself, mudblood was a foul term reserved for the worst of wizarding muggle-borns. He'd been trying to use the term less since it became common knowledge that the Dark Lord's father was a muggle. Two extremely powerful wizards with non-magic parents – perhaps there was something to it.

But he digressed.

Granger had to be admired for her total control over Potter. Simply a graceful wave of her hand quieted his rage. Ah, he thought, she just did it again. He plotted a formula as it happened: Potter got worked up… Potter tried to take action…and whoosh, Granger knocked him back with the force of mere words.

He'd just finished observing one such example when Granger stared straight at him. Actually, she stared at his hand, which he realized must have been red from the blow to Potter.

"Wake up, Ron!" Granger called to Weasley. When the redhead didn't move she walked over and slapped his thick skull.

"Fuck it all, why can't you buggers let me sleep?"

"Because I need something. Get up."

Weasley obeyed as Potter had.

Draco suddenly realized how long he'd been staring, fearing that Lavender may have noticed his interest in unpopular people. He then made a conscious effort to look elsewhere, finding a perfect outlet in the windows overlooking the Hogwarts grounds.

Damn. Of course the quittich pitch was on the other side.

He had settled for a view of some large trees when a streak of gray caught his eye.