Draco Malfoy could almost see Granger steeling herself. Cancel that, he really could see it, her spine straightening - and part of his stomach twisted, unsure what she wanted to talk about, but sure that it wouldn't be pleasant. Not in the slightest.
Oddly, she said simply, "Ronald Weasley isn't terribly important. I'll explain, but we'd better get some other things straight while we can."
"Potter-" Malfoy said, and Hermione nodded firmly.
"If he's coming back," Malfoy said, giving her a sidelong grin, "Why don't we give him something to stare at?"
Hermione thought that rogueish grin on Malfoy's face was starting to grow on her, which was moderately disturbing, as it tended to come with Bad Ideas.
Still...
What was the harm?
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Harry Potter had been pacing in the dusty old classroom, the Map on the table, as he glared, repeatedly, at the alcove where Malfoy and Hermione were. What were they doing? Were they safe? Were they going to destroy all of ruddy England? Were they fighting each other - or worse, just bleeding from the pain?
Harry'd thought his thousand and one ideas would shrink to several, if only he headed over and confirmed that they were still of sound mind and body. It hadn't worked. Harry's mind had cranked into overdrive, and come up with thousands more, each one more convoluted than the last. His head was throbbing, and he knew he shouldn't be headed over there... Knew he'd promised to wait...
His feet took him over there anyway, almost without his by-your-leave.
He stepped partially into the alcove, only to see a darkhaired beauty deeply kissing a sandy-haired young man in Hogwarts robes. "Excuse me," Harry said, blushing and beating a hasty retreat.
He'd gotten about fifteen steps away, when he'd realized - the map had said they were there. Disguise charms were cheap.
Immediately, he whirled around, and started heading back.
It took him ten steps to remember where he'd seen that particular beauty before - that had been the...
Exact
guise that Hermione had worn heading into Muggle London.
Harry froze, thinking. He'd sworn that the bloke kissing her looked ... just the way she'd described that bloke in Muggle London.
Hermione wouldn't joke about something like that.
Abruptly, Harry Potter's feet carried him at a flat out run directly back to the alcove, and Harry didn't mind in the slightest that his already pinked skin was turning the color of PeptoBismol.
"Malfoy? Really?" He said, as he nearly crashed into both of them.*
Stepping back from that kiss, Malfoy -and Harry could catch a few mannerisms, now, drawled in a voice that Harry didn't recognize, "Potter, Really? Is faceplanting a hobby of yours?"
Hermione giggled, looking at the both of them, and said primly**, "A picture is worth a thousand words."
"Hermione, what's your favorite book?" Harry demanded suddenly.
"Harry, you know I hate it when you ask that question..." Hermione said, looking like she might throttle him.
"Fine, what's your favorite book today?" Harry asked obediently.
"The Prince and the Pauper," Hermione said stoutly.
"Appropriate," Harry responded, looking at Malfoy, "Have you ever been in love?"
"Unlike you, apparently, yes. I love my mother, as do most children. Anything more than that is none of your business" Draco Malfoy drawled in that odd accent that Harry had a hard time even deciphering.
Malfoy crossed his arms, "What's with asking questions you don't know the answer to?" he said, looking directly at Harry Potter. Harry thought Malfoy really looked weird with crystal blue eyes, very strange.
"Just checking that you haven't Imperioed each other." Harry said, grinning.
"How can you do that if you don't know the answer?" Hermione said, her hands on her hips.
"I don't need to know the answer. I just need to know if it's you responding. Malfoy'd never have responded like that - and Hermione, if I'd asked you if Malfoy had ever been in love, you'd have stammered before answering." Harry's grin had bird feathers on the edges.
"Clever," Malfoy said, and Harry could tell that the Slytherin was rather unwillingly impressed.
"I'd better be taking my leave, before this dratted spell of yours, Malfoy - will it turn me fuscia?" Harry Potter said, looking down at his steadily en=pinkening body.
"Nobody's ever let it get that far." Malfoy drawled, and Potter ran out of the room.
*Running five steps at a flat out run is a recipe for disaster. Not-thinking is a Potter Trait, at least according to Snape, and he'd know.
**Current Form lends itself better to primness.
[a/n: Well, at least they gave Potter some explanation. He'll have come up with another ten thousand ideas before they're done talking with each other.
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