Have you ever had one of those days, when nothing sunk into your thick skull? When something was on your mind, and you couldn't get it out, and everything that anyone else said just didn't sink in?
This was not one of those days for Harry Potter.
It was one of those days for Hermione Granger, and her 'I need to talk to you' signals were what was interfering with his studies. Luckily, Hermione was usually a peach about studying, so Harry could count on her to actually go over the material he had missed... because of her. He wouldn't even need to guilt her into it. She was nice like that. Responsible.
It wasn't a breakfast conversation, and it wasn't a lunchtime conversation, and it especially wasn't a "between or during classes" conversation (which he was glad about, as those tended to get him into unnecessary trouble.).
Harry felt the expected tug from Hermione's small hand, as she urgently tugged him towards the library. At least Ron was busy, and wouldn't be bumbling in. Harry loved Ron, and all that, but he had a feeling this conversation might, might just be something better settled one on one.
"So what's up, Hermione? " Harry asked, as she started to lay out books, creating the illusion of studying.
"The gall of that boy! The utter chutzpah!" Hermione spat.
"Who, Malfoy?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Yes! He claimed that he was doing you a 'favor' by not getting involved yesterday... evening." Hermione said the last word lowly.
"Did he say I owed him?" Harry asked pointedly.
"No, but that's not the point!" Hermione said. "They were coming up with all these outlandish rumors -"
"I know-" Harry said,
"I was half ready to hex him, even though he said he wouldn't do anything to you."
"I wish you'd been up and center to deal with the witches, instead - if Malfoy's going to break his word," Harry said, thinking as he went, "I don't think you'll be able to block him." Hermione's face darkened, and Harry hastily added, "at least not from that range."
"That's another thing! Why did you invite him to our practice sessions? Wasn't the whole point for us to practice together?"
"Yeah, but if we don't invite him, he'll find his way in ... again. I'm not going to play the stupid word games to keep Slytherins out. That may not be futile, but it very certainly is a complete waste of time."
"But how are we going to practice?" Hermione asked querulously.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll come up with a way. Besides, I doubt Malfoy will be making most of our sessions." That was one of Harry's 'just a feeling' - in this case, that he could convince Snape to massage the patrol schedules.
Harry Potter went to dinner with a sense of having cleared the air between himself and Hermione. Unfortunately, that was not the issue he was confronted with when he sat down to eat. No, it was Ron Weasley, looking - slightly bereft - without his friends. Harry thought crankily to himself, "Great, I have to fix that too." and then, with a nearly physical effort, thought, "I can tackle that when Lavender's dealt with. He'll listen then." Under his breath, he muttered to himself " i hope I don't need to invite Lavender along..."
Malfoy, of course, was pulling dinner off with a level of skill that Harry'd never mastered. Harry idly wondered how long it had taken Malfoy to learn inspired table manners, and to use them even when offered pizza* in the Great Hall. Harry wasn't sure that it was worth the time or effort, honestly. Harry Potter may eat like a uncultured heathen, but... Nobody really seemed to mind.**
Harry and Hermione went to the room of requirement, pacing back and forth three times, hoping that Malfoy hadn't gotten there, but just in case he'd done, I started thinking of logical traps. I finally asked the room of requirement to show me any hidden people, and if that failed, to produce a crystallic cube in the center of the room. It was nowhere near infallible, but it was proof against an initial, ill-thought salvoy, and that was really as good as I could have hoped for, with as little thought as I'd put into it.
Malfoy actually showed up precisely half a minute before he would have been "on time", which was nice, as I could stop worrying about him somehow jumping (or falling) out of the walls.
"Potter, Granger." Malfoy greeted, with a simple nod. And yet, even such a greeting meant something. Here, it just meant "we're here to get down to work"... at least that's what Harry Potter hoped it meant.
"Malfoy" they both greeted him in unison.
"You even speak together. Gryffindor - home of the brave and brainwashed." Malfoy said, smirking.
At this point, Harry Potter was giving Draco Malfoy the "you've got to be kidding me" look - because, of course, Malfoy just had to be antagonistic from the very start. Couldn't just let something like "we said hello" lie. Hermione had her hands on her hips, glaring at Draco Malfoy, and she looked like she was close to stamping right up to glare at his pointy chin.***
"I'd like to propose we leave the childish insults behind, and avoid discussing such unpleasantness except where it's necessary for the matter at hand." Malfoy said, and Harry did a doubletake - this was the Malfoy who had just insulted them and their house, right? "Before the end of the year, we may be crossing wands on the battlefield. Extending the courtesy of treating each other like worthy opponents is just common sense and maturity." This all would have sounded better, Harry reflected, if Malfoy hadn't just gotten done being a royal, spoiled git.
Hermione was even less likely to take this at face value than Harry - and Harry's new assumption for anything Slytherin was "there's more to it than you think." She had her hands on her hips, her foot tapping - until her questions boiled over, and she blurted out, "What kind of subject matter cares about me being Muggleborn?"
"Three entire branches of blood magic," Draco Malfoy drawled, "Plus a few esoteric bonding spells that rely on consanguinity, and, of course, wards present a singular problem for the Muggleborn." Draco Malfoy paused, "If anyone of my father's generation had sense, they'd hire the Creevey's as soon as possible - it's one thing to have a ward that only one person can enter - that's extremely failure prone, from accident or torture take your pick, but the Creeveys will both work as keys, and then you only need to have a decent defense - and, of course, the ability to whisk away the non-kidnapped party."
"You're talking about letting one of them get tortured!" Hermione gasped.
"Yes. Covering all bases." Malfoy said.
"You'd tell them before signing the contract? What they were getting into?" Harry Potter asked, less concerned with the morality of "setting someone up to potentially be tortured" and more concerned with "did they know about it?"
"Of course, and due compensation would be provided." Draco Malfoy said.
"How do you compensate someone for torture?!" Hermione yelped.
"Any number of ways, though the most popular are longlasting - giving someone a Title and Lands. You know, like Vincent Crabbe's line." Draco Malfoy said smoothly. Harry mentally filed away a bit of knowledge on how a near-squib had managed to accumulate power. j
"What kind of subject matter cares about you being an inbred hick?" Harry Potter asked challengingly.
"Surprisingly, only glamours care about how one was raised. It has to do with crafting a real illusion. It's hard to craft one if you don't know exactly how it should look/move/feel/sound."
"As to inbreeding? You'd be surprised. There's at least one strong line of blood magic that perverts itself into something poisonous if used on purebloods. It's banned by the ministry, obviously." Draco Malfoy said, bracing his back against the wall, "But of more interest to you is probably Wild Magic, one of a few disciplines of charms that seem to perform better for Mu-gggleborns." Draco Malfoy looked down at the floor for a moment, muttering, "Sorry, still working on that. Force of habit."
"What's Wild Magic?" Hermione asked, her voice soft as she generally used in the library.
"It's magic that doesn't fit a set formula. Generally considered very dangerous and not to be trifled with. Spells coerce magic into doing what it's commanded to do. Wild Magic - it does the opposite. It's the Wizard's Own Will against Magic itself." Draco Malfoy said.
Harry Potter fought to not stiffen. This sounded... a little more dangerous than Snape had made learning wandless magic sound (not that he'd honestly told Harry it was any different than normal spellcasting). Hermione was also fighting to not stiffen, and Harry could see the thousand thoughts running through her head.
"Alright," Hermione said, "I think we can set the petty, bloodborne insults aside."
"Good job, knowitall," Draco Malfoy drawled, "Now let's roll up our sleeves and get casting." Harry Potter mentally shook his head, No it didn't seem like Ma lfoy was going to be any less of a git.
Harry turned to his own sleeves, rolling them up until he heard a choking sound out of Hermione - his eyes leaped up to hers, and he followed them straight to... Malfoy's left forearm. It had a Dark Mark on it. Suddenly, everything that Malfoy had said earlier about fighting them seemed to ring home. Harry's eyes found Malfoy's, and eh was surprised at what he saw - a quiet sense of trust.
"Your arm!" Hermione finally stuttered out.
Draco Malfoy looked down, and pulled the Weasley's sticky dark mark off of his arm. "Sorry," he said, sounding blithe and completely unsorry. Fucking git.
Drawing his wand behind his back, Harry Potter looked at Malfoy and started advancing. Three steps. Four. "Finite Incantem." Harry intoned, and that smooth pallid skin faded, leaving behind the actual brand. Harry's eyes flicked up suspiciously to Malfoy's, who simply nodded slightly.
"Hermione. Wait." Harry Potter said, starting to pace. He didn't need her impetuously ... whatever she wanted to do.
"You gave us two sets of memories," Harry Potter said. "That's intentional, right?"
"Indeed." Draco Malfoy amiably agreed.
"You don't expect this revelation - no matter how expected - to have direct consequences." Harry thought out, his feet sending him back and forth across the room.
"Of course not. Even if you did report me, I think that Dumbledore... Dumbledore believes in salvation and all that rot. I think he already knows." Draco Malfoy said - and Harry saw Hermione deflate. Good, at least one disaster averted.
"I assume Professor Snape knows as well," Harry Potter said, and Draco Malfoy nodded, saying simply, "He is my head of house." Not to mention a spy twice over...
Harry hadn't flinched like Hermione had - this wasn't the first time he'd seen a Dark Mark, and he remained aware that just because you had one, didn't mean that... Shite, this meant that Malfoy's family was in danger, or could be in danger, or would be in danger.
Harry Potter, he said to himself, you don't have to fix everything.
He only wished he believed that.
"Enough hornswaggle, we came here to fight, didn't we?" Harry said, pulling his wand. "Better be light, better be fast, Better jump quick, or be caught in the blast." Those were the last words Harry said, other than spells. He viciously reminded himself (as he rolled out of the way of something wicked that he didn't recognize from Malfoy's wand - he only knew it was wicked from the bright gleam in Malfoy's eye.) to use wand movements, to play within the rules.
That was the problem with training with people smarter than you were - you couldn't bluff them. "Oi, how'd you do that spell?" "I found it, in a book." Ha! Imagine trying that with Hermione Granger!? She'd have the size of the book, down to the centimeter, and then she'd have the weight and the color, and within a few hours, she'd have the actual book in her clever paws.
He spoke spells, casting them in a normal tone of voice, his body well trained like a musician's - taking oxygen where he could, but mostly forging on without it. Lifegiving breath was overrated anyway.
Time always seemed to go slower during combat, so Harry wasn't surprised when Hermione said, "You're dead, Harry. You too, Malfoy."
Waving her wand one last time, Hermione revealed bright gleen splotches on Malfoy's black robes. Harry Potter couldn't help cracking up. "Just look at you!" He chuckled.
Malfoy sneered, snapping back, "Look at yourself!"
Harry Potter did, looking down at his nearly covered in gleen robes, and then, a naughty thought came to him. He pulled himself up straight, and put on one of those Charming Grins that Sirius had so favored. "Ah, but I look good in it." Harry knew his grin oozed confidence to the point of arrogance.
"Arrogant twat." Malfoy snapped at him.
"Speccy git." Potter snapped back, his eyes sparked sharp.
"Boys!" Hermione said, her hands on her hips, "More casting, less talking."
They got back to work.
By the end of the practice time, everyone had something to work on, whether they realized it or not. Harry Potter said, with a sigh, "Time!"
"Okay, we'll go round. Self-evaluation first. What do you need to improve?"
"Stamina." Hermione said, still trying to catch her breath.
"Aim." Malfoy said, in a surprising display of self-awareness and honesty.
"Variety." Harry put in, knowing that it would mean hours of studying in the library, just to pick up things he could make himself in minutes. Still... it was the truth, he had felt very, very hobbled here, and wanted to be... free. Or as free as one could be in the non-Wild realm of magic. Seriously, why had Snape not mentioned that?
Harry Potter had not made much of a move to leave after the practice, and he could tell that Hermione was abruptly deciding that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave the two hotheads alone in a room together, for pretty much any reason. Which meant that the private conversation that Harry Potter had wanted, wasn't going to be happening anytime soon.
"Tea?" Harry Potter asked, a stove popping into view at his command.
Malfoy flinched at the unexpected arrival of a modern applicance and then stared, completely dumbfounded.
Hermione eventually said, "Yes please, Harry." And Harry Potter mentally thanked Hermione for not making it into a squabblefight over who was going to make the bloody tea.
Harry Potter came back to find Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy awkwardly looking at anything except each other.
"Three tablespoons?" Harry asked Draco Malfoy.,
Draco Malfoy, in turn, blinked at him, and then smirked, "Of course."
"One dollop of honey?" Harry asked Hermione Granger.
"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said smoothly, her legs crossing at her ankles.
"Hey! You didn't say there'd be Honey!" Draco Malfoy protested, trying (unsuccessfully, due to Harry's automatic reflexes) to shove his cup underneath the dripping honeystick.
"I didn't realize you liked Honey." Harry Potter said mildly. "Or I'd have offered." Harry poured himself some tea, not saying a word (though Hermione frowned), when Draco Malfoy managed to snag the honey stick and drizzle a generous dollop into his already oversweetened tea. To each his own.
Harry didn't especially like black tea, mind, but he'd gotten very well used to it at the Dursleys, and wasn't terribly interested in figuring out how much cream he'd really like. He sat back to watch the... nonexistent conversation.
Well, better see about fixing that then. What's an appropriate Tea Party Conversational Topic?
"So, about the weather..." Harry Potter started.
"Crisp and clear this week. I always enjoy the weather before the fall turns." Malfoy said precisely, his eyes glinting malevolently as he spoke. Both Harry and Hermione seemed visibly surprised at his candor.
"Indeed." Hermione said, and then the conversation languished, for long enough for the silence to prick at Malfoy's temper.
"Merlin, this is shite! If you won't talk about anything, let's at least have some meaningless drabble about Quiddich." Malfoy said, his temper clear in his words, though they were a normal-volume sort of thing.
"I think we've got a pretty good shot this year." Harry said, "Though I'm still wondering who you picked for the third chaser on your lineup."
"Oh, that's the thing." Draco Malfoy said lightly, his eyes sparkling like knives over the lip of his teacup. "I'm not picking."
"Oh?" Harry Potter asked, fighting to keep his tone mild and his eyes uninterested.
"Rosier's two years younger than I am, and unlike you Gryffindors, we believe in training up." Draco Malfoy said promptly, the whole thing sounding entirely too rehearsed and well-said.
"What's your real reason?" Harry Potter chanced bluntness, thinking that Malfoy was perhaps the only Slytherin he could get away with bluntness toward - oh, sure, everyone'd expect Potter the Hero to be blunt - but Slytherins tended to close down if shoved so blatantly. Malfoy though? He liked to boast, always had, maybe always would.
"Too much to do this year." Malfoy said, still looking at Potter, before glancing towards Hermione, "Not necessarily schoolwork."
"I should... that's a really good idea," Harry said, "Maybe if I..."
"Oh, no way." Malfoy said, smirking evilly, "If you step down in the middle of the season, nobody will believe it. Worse, nobody will want to be your obvious substitute."
Harry Potter let out a resigned sigh.
"Of course, I could help you with your little Quiddich Captain problem." Harry's eyes rose from his teacup to Malfoy's silversteel eyes, looking frankly incredulous. Help? From Malfoy? It wasn't just that he was offering, it was that... that'd probably be obvious enough for the whole school to notice...
"Yeah, I bet if you were dramatically injured, you could step down from being Quiddich captain easily." Draco Malfoy said lightly, before those now molten eyes looked dead on at Potter, "All you have to do is let me catch the Snitch."
"Ha-rry! You can't cheat like that! You can't possibly throw the game!" Hermione said from the sidelines.
Harry Potter merely smirked, enjoying the twist Malfoy had put on his offer of help. Help via mangling injury. "I'll think about it." He said shortly, and Malfoy nodded, his emotions retreating again behind that expressionless Slytherin mask.
Harry Potter had managed to scare u a better topic of conversation, "So, Hermione tells me that you had the gall to tell her that you were doing me an unasked for favor, by not ... interfering, last night?"
"I said... most of that, yes. I wouldn't term it a favor, more giving you a sporting chance." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes sparkling like shattered glass at the last two words.
"Explain." Harry Potter bit out, not wanting Malfoy to just leave it there. "I'd rather hear it from the horse's mouth."
Malfoy's eyes blinked at the phrase, the corners of his mouth twitching down infinitesimally. If he wasn't so well trained, his brow might have furrowed a bit. "The crazy bints were coming up with outlandish rumors, the type that everyone will repeat once round the halls, and then they'll die a quick death."
"They know it, you know it, everyone knows it." Malfoy said snidely. "Except for Granger there."
"Hey! It's not my fault I don't listen to gossip! That's a good thing." Granger repeated stalwartly.
"Leave it to the Gryffindor Brain to turn down information for the sake of mere principal." Malfoy drawled.
"At least I have principles. Your father looks out for anything, anyway. Power? Money? Prestige? Dogshit?" Granger said, and Harry had to muffle an unexpected snort at that last one.
"You don't want to hear what I have to say about Dumbledore either, Granger. Besides, I wasn't talking about your parents. I was talking about you. And for all the traits I've inherited from my father, his inherent ability and taste for self-aggrandizement is something I, quite fortunately, lack."
"What would you have done, Malfoy?" otter interrupted the conversation as soon as he saw it was likely to explode.
"I'd have crafted a believable rumor - maybe even one a shade more conservative than would normally sell." Malfoy responded with the ease of someone who's been thinking these thoughts for a while. "But that, ladies and gentlemen, would wreck more harm on your image than any of those self-serving rumors.
Harry nodded, even as Hermione glared at him, upset that he'd taken Draco Malfoy's side.
Harry was actually relieved when Hermione started up the next fragmentary conversation. He really, really didn't have much to talk about with Draco Malfoy after all. I mean, really, what was there to say? They were rival Seekers, true, but that didn't lead to bright shiny conversation where they'd exchange tips or something.
So, all in all, it was a good thing when Hermione started to talk with Malfoy about Feoh and fecundity. Even if the actual contents of the conversation made Harry Potter (who, after all, wasn't actually taking Ancient Runes) want to blush beet red.
"Wow, if I'd have known that Ancient Runes was all about... cups and wands, I might have considered taking it." Harry Potter said, his ears still red-tipped from the blushing.
"Boys!" Hermione said, crossing her arms indignantly, "If there's one thing they think about!"
"Hey! I'm insulted by that." Malfoy cut in, managing to sound even more crotchety than Hermione, which Harry thought meant that he was probably puttng it on a bit thick intentionally. "I'll have you know that i'm perfectly capable of thinking of four or five things, they just happen to be all carnally pleasurable."
Harry Potter abruptly wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere. Preferably dragging one of the two participants in there with him.
"As ever delightful as this tea party has been, Hermione, don't you have some books to return to the library?" Harry put in.
Hermione looked at him. Blinked. Chanced a glance at Malfoy. Blinked again. Looked back at Harry, nodded slowly. "Of course. Babbling's treatise on Lindenhome's runic slang..." Hermione said, standing up and gathering her books by hand rather than asking the room to.
"Take care." Hermione said as she left, and Harry heard the subtext - be wary. It was good advice, even if Harry wanted to say he didn't need it.
After the door shut behind Hermione, Harry Potter found himself staring down at his tea. He... wasn't quite sure what exactly to do, though he wanted to do. Argh! that didnt' make any sense even in his head. Thoughts spun around, as if he was in the eye of a hurricane, slipping through his fingertips.
Malfoy said, "So, what was so blasted important that you made me sit through that?" Harry Potter started, his eyes jumping up to meet Malfoy's, who had the oddest expression on his face. It was impatience mixed with exasperation... and an odd sort of warmth that looked seriously strange on the ice-colored boy. Like a candle reflected through blocks of ice...
"Pansy - " Harry Potter started, and then stopped, his hands curling into fists at his side. It... Harry was almost beyond caring about what Malfoy took out of this conversation. Harry Potter wanted answers, and he wanted them now.
"If you want my advice, it's simple: Don't." Draco Malfoy said, that silvery, mocking half-smile gracing his face again. "Even if she wanted to date someone, it'd hardly be you."
At this point, Harry Potter choked on his tea, nearly spitting it at Draco Malfoy. Somehow, Harry thought that would not go over well, if he stained Malfoy's robes by being that startled.
Now it was Harry's turn to look at Draco Malfoy, looking exasperated. Because of course Malfoy hadn't actually believed that Harry was talking about dating Pansy Parkinson. He was just deflecting... And that meant, both that there was something there, and that Malfoy thought it wasn't, possibly couldn't, be Potter's business. Which, thought Harry Potter, was a crock of shite.
"Pansy - what's it-" Harry paused, put half inarticulate by too many thoughts, though the chiefest one was simply, 'i know what it's like, why the hell am I asking that?'
Instead, Harry grasped for something more... useful, grateful beyond words that Malfoy hadn't taken the opportunity to slide a dagger in deep. Harry got: "What can I do?"
"Pretend you didn't hear, if you can manage that." Draco Malfoy said firmly, setting his teacup down with a hard clack, which was the only outward sign that Draco Malfoy cared about this more than discussing the weather. Harry'd've had more confidence in it, if he wasn't dead certain that Malfoy was deliberately breaking role.
"And if I can't?" Harry Potter said, pausing a moment, and then diving in, "Or won't?" Harry knew his eyes were glinting like green fire.
"She doesn't need you." Draco Malfoy said firmly. "If you showed her any shred of pity? She'd end you."
"What. Can. I. Do?" Harry Potter asked, his tone firm and uncompromising.
"Damned if I know," Draco Malfoy said, shaking his head and taking a sip of tea. "Only, I don't think she was lying, when she was talking about her happiest memory."
Harry looked at Draco Malfoy, stared, really. Finally, long seconds later, he asked quietly, "How is that possible?"
Draco Malfoy looked a little uncomfortable, and then a bit more, "She's always had a very vivid imagination. Trace a memory enough times, even if it's only an illusion, and you can make yourself believe."
Harry Potter tried to understand this, really he did, but eventually he just folded it into that box of "Stuff to think about Later."
"All those fanciful gossipy tales she tells?" Draco Malfoy said finally, "Escapism. An outlet." He looked at Harry and said, "But don't encourage her." Then Malfoy slowly (and probably painfully) stood, and stiffly strode toward the door. Harry, still drinking his tea, let him go.
As Draco Malfoy's hand touched the door, he turned back, saying simply, "You owe me for this." Harry bent his head, in a mock nod that had his eyes more focused on his tea than Malfoy's reaction.
After the door shut a second time, Harry Potter sent the teacup (and the tea) straight into the wall, enjoying the ceramic shatter of the vitreous glass. He was in the mood for breaking something.
Draco Malfoy was on the fifth floor of Hogwarts, pacing. Or, rather, circling the entire thing. He disliked the conclusions he'd come to in the past hour, and he wanted to break something. Worse, he wanted answers, and ... well, asking Professor Snape would be the worst idea.
Draco Malfoy didn't think anyone else would be able to offer insight, though. Most of the other teachers were... distant. Oh, they taught, and cared, and all that rot, but... never like Snape did. With Snape, it was always personal. With Longbottom, with Bulstrode, with Rosier. Always personal. Snape was attentive to everything around himself, as always. The difference was, at school he was likely to provide aid.
Aid that Draco Malfoy desperately, desperately needed. But couldn't ask for, because Snape wasn't supposed to know that conversation, that revelation, even existed. Worse, for Draco's ongoing sanity, The Dark Lord wasn't supposed to know about it either. Draco Malfoy briefly considered going to the Headmaster to ask for another obliviate, before reason reasserted itself.
No, it was far better for him to delve deeper into the mental arts, rather than resort to removing anything that might possibly be problematical. The Dark Lord would have to be a particularly insightful, cunning man to get anything out of Draco's actions - or even Potter's. Draco could... would take that chance.
Still, Draco Malfoy's curiosity coursed through him as if his blood was on fire. How in the world had a stray comment of Pansy's (the girl who made dozens of entertaining, entirely implausible comments every day), managed to upset Potter's equilibrium worse than any of Draco Malfoy's comments over his entire time at Hogwarts?
Potter wasn't supposed to be complicated. He was supposed to be simple. But simple people don't ask the questions he was asking. Simple people don't notice what Potter had noticed... and drawn deeply into himself.
Friday passed uneventfully. Professor Snape was his usual cutting wit in Potions class, and - for a wonder - there were no crises. Harry Potter got to relax, for once. Or as close as he could come, anyway. His mind still urged him to do something about Pansy Parkinson, even though Malfoy, who was closer to her, had said to ... not. Doing nothing was about as foreign to Harry Potter as ... breathing in outer space. All his life, he'd spent it doing things - from making breakfast at the Dursleys to nearly-endless Quiddich practices. Deciding, choosing - not to do something? It lay over him like an prickly blanket - something you could forget about, mostly, only to be reminded of it at the most inconvenient times.
"Harry, do you mind if I come with you tonight?" Hermione asked at the dinner table.
Harry Potter blinked. Tonight was... detention, with Snape. "I don't think the Professor would like that much, Hermione. I don't mind, of course not."
Ron Weasley was looking at both of them, and Harry suddenly sensed both that they ought to tell Ron, and that they ought to tell him, later. "We'll talk about this later," Harry said. "I can get what you want to know."
Hermione fidgeted, "You sure? I can't come?" Hermione was making faces worthy of the twins, petulant and unsure and wildly desperate. The thing was? The twins would have been just joshing around. Hermione wasn't. She was completely real about the whole thing, which made Harry's heart twist.
"I'll get it. Don't you trust me?" Harry asked, trying to distract Hermione away from her thoughts, which looked complicated as they played out over her whole face.
"Thank you harry!" Hermione said, "Of course I trust you, you great galoot!"
Harry smiled back at Hermione, careful not to look over at Ron, who was looking perplexed. At least he's finally out of Lala land.
*This is post Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. There would have been whining for pizza. And don't tell me house elves don't know how to make it.
**Ha-rry! Yes, people do mind.
*** Hermione's shorter than Draco. Hence not glaring at his eyes.