And yet another chapter! I am sorry this took so long, me and my beta were both busy. But, now, chapter ten! (Or eight, if you count the first two as prologue) and it's long! So, sorry, but I hope it was worth the wait. It's really my favourite chapter so far.

Dedicated to all my lovely lovely reviewers, you make my day and my week. I would glomp you if I knew who you were : grin :

So, chapter ten, in which there is action, a fight, lots of blood, and a healthy amount of angst. Also, no one dies this time! But Draco is still as much a Drama Queen as ever.

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Potter was gone as soon as class was over, he ran out the door so fast even Granger and Weasley were left staring after him. Draco contemplated whether to go search for him or not, but decided it would just seem too strange, going after Potter just to ask him some silly question.

Why did the other boy defend him? The answer was obvious, really. He didn't need Potter to confirm it. The Gryffindor just didn't like injustice. He was Noble and Fair, after all. At least most of the time. Draco didn't do anything wrong, and so, Potter didn't want to see him punished. Reasonable enough.

But oh, that was it. A smile tugged at Draco's lips, before widening so much he had to pretend to cough so he'd be able to bring a hand to his face to hide it. He was feeling happy, giddy even, lighter than he had in weeks; Potter never bothered to stick up for him before, did he? No, even saint Potter didn't defend those he hated. Yet he did defend Draco.

And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

He packed his belongings lazily, before he shouldered his bag and left the classroom with Pansy. She was wearing that dark expression again, the one he got used to seeing in the last month or so. But he couldn't be bothered, not now. "Coming?" he asked, before the smile took over again, surprising them both; Pansy blinked, taken aback, and then the anger seemed to leak out of her face, leaving a peculiar sort of sadness in its place.

"Yes," she answered.

He was already out of the room when he noticed something amiss. "Where's Blaise?"

Pansy shrugged. "He left to the loo straight after you returned to the Defence classroom," she said.

Draco frowned, but forgot about it soon after.

It was already late at night when Draco remembered. He was in the dormitory, towelling his hair dry after his shower, humming tunelessly as he did so. Blaise entered the room just as Draco finished buttoning his pyjamas shirt. He looked up. "Hi."

Blaise nodded at him and dumped his bag on his own bed. He removed his cloak and robes, throwing them on the floor, and started on his shirt. "You look happy," he said. There was a strange look in his eyes, shadowed, that made Draco uneasy, although he couldn't pinpoint why. Something strange in his greeting smile.

"Do I?" Draco answered, cautious all of the sudden, despite having always felt comfortable around the other boy. "Tired, mostly."

"Mmm," was Blaise's reply. "Go to sleep then. Long day and all, neh?"

Too much teeth, Draco realized suddenly.

He narrowed his eyes, slightly, as the other boy changed into his pyjamas. It was then that he remembered. "You missed Transfiguration today," he commented off-handedly, although he didn't feel all that calm inside. Something wasn't quite right. "Do you need my notes?"

"Yeah, thanks." Blaise said, his back to Draco, and got into bed. Draco hesitated, then did the same. They put out the lights with their wands, and the room was cast into darkness, disturbed only by the bluish light of the half-full moon outside.

"Draco." Blaise said quietly after a few minutes, and Draco turned his face towards him. He couldn't see the other boy, as the curtains were half-closed around his bed. He could make out Blaise's fingers, tight and pale against the curtains, cut-off as though in mid-air, and a dark glint of eyes from the blackness inside the canopy.

"Yes?" he answered.

Blaise's voice was quiet, and holding none of the indifference from before. "Be careful."

He closed the curtains, and Draco was left staring at nothing.

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Hermione and Ron caught up with Harry outside the Charms classroom. "Hey!" Ron shouted. "What the bloody hell was that about?"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded him, but she, too, was looking at Harry closely. "I agree with the question, though, if not with the way Ron phrased it."

Harry scratched his neck, uncomfortable. "It was nothing," he said.

"Nothing—" Ron started, but closed his mouth when Hermione stepped on his foot. "Ow!" he hissed, then glared at her.

"You don't usually defend Malfoy." Hermione said, ever the voice of logic.

"He did me a favour, sort of," Harry supplied, feeling himself blush a little and knowing Hermione, at least, noticed it. "I thought it was only fair to do the same."

"A favour," Hermione repeated, her voice flat, but changed the subject, to his relief. "So what did Professor Shacklebolt want to talk about?"

"Oh, just wanted to know if I was feeling all right and to heal my scratch." He was blushing again, he just knew it.

Ron squinted at him "You're all red, mate. You shouldn't have walked so fast just to avoid us."

Charms dragged by slowly, and Harry found himself drifting asleep, nudged back to consciousness every time by Hermione's elbow. As the class ended, she nudged him again. "Lunch, Harry. Honestly, didn't you sleep enough?" she lowered her voice, "Ron said you haven't had any nightmares for a while now."

"Sorry," he said, pushing himself to his feet "No, I slept fine." The world titled, and he crashed back into the chair. "Sorry," he repeated, fighting the dizziness, as everyone turned to look at him "The chair's leg was on my robes."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron snorted loudly, but they both seemed to believe him. "Let's go," Ron urged them impatiently, "There's sausages for lunch today."

"Mmm." Harry answered, but he didn't feel hungry at all.

What is wrong with me?

The rest of the day seemed to fly by. Everyone was settled in the common room, when Harry cursed and jerked his hand away from the table he was doing his homework on. A few drops of blood landed on the parchment, before he brought his hand to his mouth.

Hermione looked up from her book, and Ron and Seamus from their chess game. Dean and Ginny, who were both on the sofa opposite from him, turned to look at him, too. "What's wrong?" Ginny asked, a faint line of worry forming between her eyebrows.

Harry shook his head, embarrassed. "Someone left a pin on the table. Probably some first year working on Transfiguration homework. I just pressed my hand on it accidentally." Blood was continuing to drip on the table.

"Here," Ginny said abruptly, getting up and kneeling by him, "Give me your hand. Mum taught me a few useful spells," she explained, "With six boys in the house, someone is always getting hurt." Gratefully, Harry held out his hand to her. She tapped the small puncture wound with her wand and said something softly, and the wound closed. "There," she said, but didn't let go of his hand.

"Err, thanks," Harry answered, and then blinked, feeling more and more uncomfortable. "Ginny?"

"Yes?" she answered distractedly, still staring at his hand.

"Can I have my hand back, maybe?" he was turning red again, damn it! "It's just, I need to finish the essay…" The others grinned, Seamus with a suggestive quirk of the eyebrow, but Ginny only raised her face to look at his, her expression serious.

"Harry, what's that on your hand?"

"What?" he asked. She tightened her fingers on his wrist and ran a finger along the back of his hand. "It looks like scars. It looks like… words…"

Harry snatched his hand away, "It's nothing!"

Ginny's frown grew, "But there were words, I saw them."

"It's nothing!" he shouted, and everybody jumped, looking at him in shock. He felt confined, suddenly. "I… I need to go to meet Professor Dumbledore," he fibbed. He had another half-hour before their lesson, but left the room hurriedly before anyone could say anything.

He wondered aimlessly, shivering and wishing he'd have thought of grabbing his cloak, at least. It was much colder in the corridors than in the common room. His feet carried him to the entrance hall, and he was just contemplating whether to go outside and brave the cold or to turn back and go somewhere warm, when the doors opened.

Blaise Zabini stepped through, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes. He stopped when he saw Harry, and after a brief hesitation, the Slytherin nodded at him. "Potter."

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Zabini," he acknowledged back.

Zabini studied him for a few seconds, and Harry, feeling more annoyed by the minute, was about to turn around and leave when the other boy suddenly asked, "How's your scratch?"

Harry's hand automatically flew to his face, even as he said "What?"

Zabini smiled, although he didn't seem amused at all. It was a cold smile, more of grim satisfaction than of anything else. "Never mind," he answered, and left.

Harry stared after him, eyes narrowed. Really, he thought, what was that all about?

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Draco and Blaise acted as though nothing was said that night for the next few days, but Draco didn't forget what the other boy had said, or rather, what he insinuated he saw.

Be careful.

I am careful, he thought sulkily. It wasn't as though Blaise could actually blame him for something, he was just jumping to conclusions. It was perfectly reasonable that Draco really had acted as he did because of his responsibility as a Prefect.

That sounded lame even to his own ears.

The longer as he thought about it, the more annoyed and restless Draco became. And, to top it all, Potter was ignoring him again which only made him angrier and more on edge.

You can't help me, then forget I exist, he seethed as the Gryffindor once again walked passed him without so much as sparing him a glance. Hey, look at me!

By the time Friday arrived, he was one pissed-off ball of nerves.

In Defence, Potter walked in, pulled Weasley the oaf to the side when Draco stuck out a leg for him, and steered the spluttering redhead to their seat without so much as glaring at Draco. In fact, he didn't even acknowledge him. Draco was so furious he nearly threw his incredibly heavy one-thousand and twenty three pages Defence book at Potter's infuriating head.

Things did not improve during the lesson. In fact, it only grew worse (how is that even possible, Draco wondered), because Potter smiled two times at Granger, three times at Weasley, five times at Finnigan and seven and a half times (the half an adorable shy smile, and if Draco hadn't been so hacked off at that point he would have melted on the spot) at Susan Bones, who until that point Draco had actually tolerated, despite the fact that she was a Hufflepuff. Now, of course, she deserved to die, the seducing wench, for batting her eyes at Potter and smiling at him the entire lesson.

Really, why wasn't Shacklebolt kicking her out? She was disturbing the studious atmosphere in the class.

It was completely understandable, of course, that by the time the lesson ended he felt he had never been more livid in his life, and that if he didn't get some reaction -- any reaction – from Potter and immediately, he would go mad.

So he got up, shouldered his bag, and timed himself to go through the door when Granger was passing through. He rudely shouldered past her, knocking her to the side, and her bag slipped out of her hands, the contents spilling on the floor. "Watch it, Mudblood!" he hissed, but quietly, so only she, Potter and Weasley heard.

Potter finally looked at him then, his eyes furious and hateful but there, and there was the fire that made Draco's blood sing in his veins. Granger bent to pick up her things, and Weasley kneeled to help her, the three of them glaring at him. "Just you wait, Malfoy," the redhead threatened, his large hands collecting various books.

Draco sneered down at him. "Take care, Mudblood, or he'll steal your books since he can't afford his own."

Pansy tried to tug Draco away, but he jerked out of her grip. "What's wrong, Potter?" he asked, revelling in the way those green eyes focused on him. Like there was nothing else in the world right then except for Draco.

"Piss off, Malfoy." Potter said, but Draco could see he was itching to punch him. Just a little more, he thought. Just a tiny bit more.

"I really don't feel like pissing off, actually," he drawled as malicious as he could manage, and Potter clenched his fists. Salazar, he's beautiful like this. If Potter didn't throw a punch soon Draco would just kiss him and the entire bloody world be damned. But he could see Potter was close to breaking.

"Why aren't you helping the Mudblood, Potter?" The way the Gryffindor's cheeks were flushed in anger, the way his lips curled back in a way that was almost cruel -- Draco could live for years on that memory alone. "Or have you finally realised that is where she belongs, down on the—"

And he had been expecting the punch, really, but it still caught him by surprise when Potter lashed out. Draco wasn't fast enough to move entirely out of the way, but the fist struck his shoulder instead of his jaw. He stumbled, and made a grab for Potter's arm in order to balance himself. They both toppled down, and the air went out of Draco's lungs as he hit something warm and bony. Potter. He had landed on Potter. Draco winced as his knuckles scraped against the harsh stone floor, and only then did he realise that he had put his hand under Potter's head to protect it from hitting the floor. He didn't have time to wonder about it though, because Potter brought his knee up in a dirty and decidedly unmanly move, and Draco folded up in pain, gasping for air. He struck out blindly, and felt his hand connect with something hard that felt like ribs, and from then on it was a vicious, dirty fight where each boy tried to gain the upper hand.

They rolled around for what seemed like eternity, and Draco was dimly aware of people shouting and jumping out of their way, but he didn't pay attention to them. This was somehow more important than any fight other fight he had had with Potter. It didn't matter that Draco was getting hit in every vulnerable place he had or that he ached all over; all that mattered was the feel of Potter's body under his own and the non-existent distance between their faces and the fact that even the blood in his mouth tasted sweet right then.

They couldn't last much longer. Draco was already having trouble breathing, but he knew he had to win this fight. It was a matter of respect, of proving that he was an equal, and that he was worthy enough. But Potter was stronger, and he was winning, and Draco was slowing down but Potter showed no sign of tiring and then –

It was over. Draco blinked, and realised he had won. It seemed as if all the strength had gone out of Potter at once, like a bubble bursting. Potter was lying under Draco, and Draco's hands were fisted in the other boy's robes and his knees were pressed to the sides of Potter's hips, Potter's sharp hipbones digging into his thighs. Draco blinked again and thought, I won.

And then he realised that Potter didn't just give up, and that something wasn't right at all. He looked down at the boy under him, and it took him a minute to understand what was wrong. Potter looked like he had collapsed. The Gryffindor was pale, so pale he was almost the colour of his shirt and even Draco's hand looked dark in comparison. Draco was breathing heavily in great gulps of air, but Potter's breath was shallow, his chest almost still. Draco could feel Potter's heart against his hand, (which he had flattened, at some point, and it was funny, really, because he couldn't remember doing that) and it was pounding so fast he thought it might burst. The Gryffindor's eyes were closed, glasses lost at the fight, his mouth open a little, and blood was smeared across the corner of his mouth and his chin where Draco vaguely remembered punching him.

He might have been beautiful before, but he was breathtaking like this. Like a wax doll. And almost as lifeless. What is wrong with him? Draco thought frantically. No panicking, do something, Draco. Think. Maybe if you blew air into his mouth he would breathe better.

Right, he thought dazedly, that sounded logical. He started bending down to do just that –

And rough arms jerked him off, slammed him against the wall, and made him hiss out in pain. "What the hell did you do to him, you bloody little Death Eater?" Weasley snarled, and Draco tried to move away from the blow that he knew was coming. It never came though. Pansy threw herself at Weasley, shrieking, and Draco toppled over into Blaise's waiting arms, and then Shacklebolt came out and everyone went quiet.

"What is going on here?" he demanded. Out of the corner of his eyes, Draco saw Granger and Finnigan pull Potter upright while he swayed on his feet. He was still very pale, but at least fully conscious, and glaring at Draco like he hadn't looked half-dead a moment before. There was a nasty bruise starting to form on the side of his face. Draco wiped away the sweat trickling from his own forehead, and his hand came away red.

"Malfoy attacked Harry!" Weasley piped, making a rude gesture at Draco when the Auror turned to look at him and Blaise.

"He did not!" Pansy shouted. "It was Potter who punched Draco first!" She latched on to Draco's arm and returned the rude gesture when Kingsley turned back to Potter questioningly.

"Is this true, Mr. Potter?" the Auror asked quietly. Potter seemed to hesitate for a minute, then he stuck his chin out defiantly and met Shacklebolt's eyes.

"Yes."

"I see," Shacklebolt sounded disappointed. "In that case –"

"Malfoy provoked him, Sir!" Granger spoke up, and Draco quickly glanced at her.

Damn, he thought. I'm dead meat.

"He said things – awful things…" the brown-haired girl trailed off, looking at the ground.

"Is that true, Mr. Malfoy?" Shacklebolt's piercing eyes were now trained on him.

He could see the Gryffindors looking at him in utter hatred. They thought, based on prior experience, that he would deny it. Well, if Potter spoke the truth, Draco would show that he was no less of a man. "Yes, I did." he answered, and heard the surprised muttering break out around him. He kept his eyes fixed on Potter's, though.

Am I worthy enough for you now? Is this good enough?

"I see," the Auror repeated, and gave Draco an unreadable look. "You will both serve detention. You will be sent the time and date by owl, and I am also taking thirty points from each house." There was a collective groan. Draco and Potter kept silent, glowering at each other. Shacklebolt looked directly at Potter, "You two will do well to clean yourselves up before your next class. Dismissed."

They left the classroom and Pansy tugged Draco in the direction of the nearest lavatory. He reluctantly followed her, supported awkwardly by Blaise.

Add to last. "Let's get you fixed up," she said, not looking at him. "I hope you know some good healing spells, because I'm utter rubbish at them". She studied his face for minute, "Merlin, Draco. You're a complete mess."

Later, when she was wiping the blood from his face, she asked softly, "Was it really worth it? Is his attention really that important to you?"

Draco gingerly tested his sprained ankle, which he had just finished healing. It ached, but it would do for the time being, and would be good as new in a few days. "Hmm?" he said.

"You're really in love with him, aren't you?" she said in a deadpan voice, and looked at him in the eyes for the first time since the fight.

"What?" he exclaimed, shocked and completely mortified. "Where did you – what are you talking about – in love with Potter, of all things –"

Pansy gave him a sad smile, "You're not as good at hiding things as you think you are, Draco. I can see how you feel about him."

"But in love – " he spluttered. In love? Love was something that happened to others. In lust, maybe. So Draco wanted Potter, so what? So did half of the student body. So he wanted – needed, a small annoying voice at the back of his head insisted, and he squashed it down viciously – Potter's attention. So he had a slight – Pfft, whom are you kidding? The same voice said, and Draco hissed at it to go away and shut up -- obsession with him. But to go so far as to say he was in love with Potter, that was absurd. That was the most ridiculous thing Draco had ever heard. He opened his mouth to tell Pansy that –

And what came out was a very stupid, "What?"

Pansy smiled again, although she looked close to tears. "Takes one to know one," she told him, and before he could process what she said, she leaned closed, kissed him very briefly on the lips. It was barely more than a warm breath of air on his mouth, and then she stood up very quickly. "We'd better get to class," she said, and turned away. "We're already very late."

Draco regained control of his mouth "Pansy –"

"If you're really serious about him, Draco, then I wish you all the luck in the world. But I really, really hope you know what you are doing." She was out the door before he could answer, and he heard her break into a run after a few steps.

He sat back down heavily. In love?

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Harry ignored Malfoy for the next few days; he didn't know what game the Slytherin was playing. First Malfoy threw a fit when he found Harry and Professor Shacklebolt in a compromising situation (Harry still blushed when he thought of it), then the Slytherin helped him out in Transfiguration, despite the treat of detention. Something was going on and Harry wanted nothing to do with it.

He could see the other boy was annoyed by Harry's utter disregard for him, but he didn't understand why. Come Friday, Malfoy was all but asking outright for a fight when he stuck out a leg to trip Ron in Defence.

"It's not worth it," Harry hurriedly said, and pulled Ron to their seats. He could feel Malfoy glaring at him all through the lesson, especially when Susan bones smiled at him. Does he fancy her? Harry wondered, as she batted her lashes at him. He can rest assured, then. She's a nice enough girl, but she isn't really my type.

He could see his mental message didn't get across to Malfoy, though. As soon as class ended the Slytherin headed straight for him. He pushed Hermione to the side as soon as she was at the door and her bag dropped, spilling her books on the ground.

Damn it, Malfoy, Harry thought angrily, you have a problem with me, take it out on me, not on Hermione!

Malfoy spouted the usual insults, although he was even more nasty than usual. "Piss off, Malfoy," Harry said tiredly, feeling his head starting to ache. He had been up half the night with nightmares, and wasn't in the mood to deal with the other boy. The Slytherin, as expected, did not stop, but he didn't start insulting Harry, either. He kept to Hermione mostly, vicious little jabs that grew worse and worse.

He looks like Sirius like this, Harry thought, and instantly hated himself for it, but the images still came; Sirius, teenager Sirius, as he was in Snape's memory, the same Sirius Harry had been unconsciously trying to forget. The colours were all wrong, but the eyes were the same: pale grey, malicious, and so hard; they were like Sirius's eyes when he tormented teenaged Snape. Snivellus, Sirius had mocked, and his mouth had the same smile Malfoy wore now: sharp and gloating and hopelessly cruel, with the same delighted, hateful curl to it as when Malfoy curved it around the word 'Mudblood.'

Harry had hated Sirius then. It had only been for a minute, and he hadn't realised it then, and wouldn't admit it now, but it had been there. Harry had known bullies, and had been as much a victim of them as Snape had been. He hated bullies, and Sirius was even worse than James in the memory, and now Sirius' impossibly handsome face became mixed with the blonde boy in front of him; not as handsome but good-looking still, with the same aristocrat features and high cheekbones and maybe his hair was blond where Sirius' was black. That didn't matter now, though. Because the eyes, the eyes are the same, and Harry stopped thinking and punched him.

Malfoy ducked – Quidditch reflexes – but not quickly enough and Harry's fist caught him in the shoulder. The Slytherin stumbled from the blow and fell, his eyes widened in panic, and he grabbed Harry's arm in the typical Malfoy attitude of "if I go down you go down with me, Potter," and they both fell. Malfoy's hand got trapped between Harry's head and the floor, and he landed on top of Harry. The Slytherin's knee was awkwardly between Harry's own knees, and Harry, still in rage, thought I hate you so much right now, and I learned how to fight dirty from Dudley. He brought his knee up hard. Malfoy folded in a very satisfying way, then he returned the favour by pounding his fist into Harry's side and probably breaking half his ribs, or at least that's what it felt like. Harry gasped out in pain and all hell broke loose between them.

They were all snarls and knees and elbows and fists and scratching fingernails. Harry started to overpower Malfoy, and then he felt the dizziness take over again, abrupt and like a fist to the head – which might have been – joined by a feeling of nausea he hadn't experienced before. Damn, no, not now of all times, he begged desperately. He could feel Malfoy slowing down – the boy had no stamina – and it was important, so important, that Harry win this fight. There was something bigger at work here than just a stupid squabble between school boys about some nasty insults, but he wasn't sure what it was. His vision started to fade, and black spots appeared in front of his eyes. Harry could see Malfoy's bared teeth and the strange fire in his eyes before the world dropped out from under him and went black.

He felt someone pull him up, and struggled to open his eyes. He saw two shapes that sort of looked like people bent over him, trying to pick him up. "Are you all right Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded and struggled to stand up with Hermione's, and the other person's (who turned out to be Seamus) help. He felt something warm trickle down his chin, which tasted like blood in his mouth, and his entire body hurt like hell. He forced himself to stand straight despite the urge to curl somewhere and never get up again. "I'm fine," he said, and thanked Neville when he handed him his glasses timidly. One lens was broken, but he jammed them on anyway, and Hermione tapped them with her wand and fixed them.

"Are you sure you're fine?" she asked. "You look pale."

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth.

When Professor Shacklebolt came out a few seconds later, the situation went from bad to worse. It wasn't that Harry particularly cared about the detention or the house points he lost, although he supposed the rest of the Gryffindors weren't so thrilled about it. It was the disappointment in the Auror's eyes when he looked at him, the I thought you were better than that, Harry look. Harry was also angry at himself. He had lost his calm to Malfoy again and fell into his obvious trap. Most of all, he had thought, even though it was only for a minute, that Malfoy and Sirius were the same.

How could you even think that? he yelled at himself. So what if they had the same blood, so what if they had the same eyes? Sirius was a good person, he worked for the Order, he was James's best friend and Harry's Godfather, and he was someone Harry loved. A lot of people are jerks at fifteen.

Malfoy is sixteen, Harry's brain decided to argue. That's not much older. And he never sent another student to his death, to a werewolf, no matter how much he had hated them.

Shut up, Harry told his brain. Sirius wasn't the same.

But if Sirius came around, there is still a chance that Malfoy would, isn't there?

He would never, Harry argued. His father's a Death Eater, for crying out loud.

Funny, the same voice said. I thought Sirius' parents were Dark Wizards, too.

"Harry!" Ron yelled, and Harry jumped. "Let's find Ginny and get you fixed up. Come on, you're bleeding all over the floor."

"Can you believe the nerve of him?" Ron fumed as they made their way to where Ginny was studying. "Picking on us because he was bored or something, not that I would expect anything else of him, the snake – but he really had no reason at all. In fact, you ignored him for the past week, didn't you Harry?" he frowned. "In fact, it really doesn't make much sense."

"He got angry at me because – " Harry hesitated, "because Susan Bones smiled at me a lot during the last few days, and I think – I think he fancies her."

"Malfoy fancying someone? Urgh. Bad thought. Yuck." Ron shuddered, "Poor Susan."

Hermione made a small sound, something between a snicker, a snort and a frustrated sigh. "Really, Harry," she said briskly, sounding angry for some reason, "Don't take this the wrong way, but you are just so blind and stupid sometimes." And she stormed away, muttering darkly to herself.

They both blinked after her. Finally, Ron let out a low whistle "Mental, that girl. What is she on about?"

Harry shook his head, at as much of a lose as Ron.

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Well, people, you know the drill -- Read and Review! I promise eternal love, since I doubt chocolate would survive mailing.