Dumbledore, Pitchforks and Red Hot Pokers

"Ah, Minerva, how nice of you to join us. Come, pull up a chair. Poppy was just about to make some more tea."

"Oh I am, am I? Tea! Oh, yes, Headmaster, don't mind me, Headmaster! Here am I, several dozen diplomas in the art of healing and it's – "can you put the kettle on please, Poppy?" "Pass me a cream bun please, Poppy." Countless years spent studying, sacrificing a social life, the chance for romance, children and all for what… so I can make Albus Dumbledore afternoon bloody tea!"

Dumbledore was hurt. It had only been one pot of tea and he hadn't insisted on the cream bun, he'd have been just as happy with a biscuit.

"I think perhaps she's not, Headmaster." Professor McGonagall sent the medi-witch a sympathetic look (sometimes, usually alone in bed at night, Minerva would indulge in a little fantasy or two involving Dumbledore, pitchforks and red hot pokers. Perhaps she should get together with Poppy and share some of the more colourful scenarios).

"Now, Albus, would you care to explain exactly where you have been for the past couple of hours?" Minerva scowled at the old man. "It may have escaped your notice but we have had one or two incidents that required your attention."

She was barely keeping a hold on her temper. The day had been trying to say the least. Who would have thought that the Triwizard Tournament would prove to be a mere backdrop to the real drama of what was already referred to the whole school wide as 'The Malfoy/Weasley Snogathon'?

Minerva had been immersed for the previous two hours in a variety of tasks, ranging from breaking up fights between the Weasley twins and anyone foolish enough to use the words "snog", "Malfoy" and "Weasley" within their hearing; preventing Rita Skeeta from turning it into her latest sensational headline; closing down the owlery so students couldn't leak the news outside the school and trying to calm both foreign delegations, who had decided to take the whole incident as a personal affront to their dignities. And where had the headmaster been while all this was going on? Well, if current evidence was to be believed – sitting sipping tea while spying on his pupils.

Dumbledore knew he was in deep guano. Few things truly troubled the old wizard. He had dealt with many horrors throughout his event-filled life. He had faced giants and trolls; stared down basilisks; Voldemort held no fear for him; it had even been said that Dumbledore would laugh in Death's face when the day came. But a pissed off Minerva McGonagall was another thing entirely.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, placed what he hoped was a disarming smile on his face and prepared to deliver the argument for the defence (while somewhere deep down inside a voice cried out for his mummy).

"I don't believe you."

"Well, Granger this may come as a great shock but I actually don't care if you believe me or not." Pansy shrugged at the other girl. "You asked me a question and I, very graciously I may add, gave you an answer. I even had the good grace to help you up off the floor afterward and make you tea."

Hermione frowned. "Dobby made the tea, you merely poured it because you are a control freak and therefore always have to be mother. And, helping me up was the least you could do seeing as you were the reason I ended up on the floor in the first place." She crossed her arms, a stubborn look firmly fixed on her face. "And I still don't believe you."

A wicked glint appeared in the Slytherin girl's eyes. "Ah, denial is a terrible thing."

The other girl glared back, her lips a thin pink line.

"Still, it must have come as a bit of a shock, realising you had competition from the boys." Pansy said slyly.

Hermione couldn't ignore that. "What do you mean boys?"

Pansy grinned, Granger was so easy.

"Well, Draco, obviously, then, there's young Finnigan…"

"Seamus!" The bushy-haired girl was sitting up straight now. "What's Seamus got to do with any of this?"

"Oh, didn't you know? He fancies your Ron too."

Granger was obviously getting used to such shocks as she actually managed to retain her seat this time.

"Bollocks!"

Apparently it was Pansy's turn to hit the floor.

Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose.

"So let me get this straight." She pinned the headmaster with a severe look. "You, the revered headmaster of this illustrious school, Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin, First Class, respected by thousands of parents who have placed their trust in you to guard the health and well-being of each and every child within your care, have been spying on two young, impressionable boys who very recently experienced an emotionally traumatic event in front of the entire school, purely in the hope of gleaning some juicy titbits for your memoirs."

Dumbledore shifted uneasily in his chair. "Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad…"

The Transfiguration teacher took a step towards him but somehow managed to restrain herself from actually kicking the old goat. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly, then opening them, asked in a barely controlled voice. "Please answer the question; have you or have you not been spying on these two unfortunate boys?"

The old wizard bowed his head. "Yes, ma'am," he replied in a very small voice.

"And you," Minerva turned to face a shame-faced Madam Pomfrey, "have not only supplied him with refreshments while he indulged in these dubious activities, but actually allowed yourself to be persuaded to violently awake one of the boys when he was attempting to get some much needed rest, just because that old reprobate" she nodded at the cowering headmaster, "wanted to continue taking notes."

The medi-witch mumbled, "It was only a tap," but nodded her head reluctantly, a blush of shame gracing her cheeks.

Minerva sighed. She was used to the headmaster's strange ways, after forty years one got used to most things, but this time he had crossed the line. How could taking notes on the boys' reactions help either of them? She glanced into the ward at the two teenagers.

Poor Mr Weasley seemed to have developed a twitch; even with Draco still hidden behind the screen Ron would flinch every time the other boy moved, breathed or blinked. And as for Mr Malfoy, well she just didn't know. That inscrutable little bastard had always left her at a total loss. Minerva actually felt a flutter of something akin to warmth at the idea that Draco might have finally found someone to shatter his veneer of ice. And she found herself suddenly fiercely protective towards both of them.

Looking up, she realised that the other two occupants of the room appeared to be awaiting her response. Right, it was time she ascertained exactly how much damage had already been done. Minerva glanced fleetingly at the headmaster, tutted, then turned back to Madam Pomfrey.

"Poppy, why don't you tell me what has happened so far, while Albus makes us both a cup of tea."

A shame-faced Hermione helped Pansy back into her seat.

"Um, sorry," she said blushing and ducking her head. "I was a bit taken aback."

"Really?" The Slytherin girl replied dryly. Pansy was shocked that Granger even knew such words.

"Well – well, you were being ridiculous." Hermione was frowning again. "Seamus does NOT fancy Ron!"

"Yeah, he does." Pansy nodded. "You should have seen his reaction to dear old Draco's earlier revelation. I thought the poor boy was going to cry. Can't say I blame him. Must be quite upsetting to discover you're up against Draco Malfoy. Oh, but then you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" She smiled sweetly at Hermione.

But before the Gryffindor girl could respond Pansy continued. "And I'm sure Potter can come as no surprise – Merlin knows they've been practically joined at the hip since they met." She sat back with a smug look on her face and waited for the fireworks to begin.

For a moment Hermione seemed at a loss for words. "What are you trying to imply, Parkinson?" She finally managed to grit out while glaring at Pansy through narrowed eyes.

"Don't tell me that you've never thought it odd how close those two are," Pansy said gleefully; she was enjoying seeing Granger so rattled. "And surely Weasley being the thing Potter would miss most was a bit of a clue?" She shook her head smiling. "Poor Draco broke down in tears when he heard that."

"But – but – " Hermione stammered. Then, seeming to rally her senses, she took a deep breath and declared loudly. "It's a plot!"

Pansy had unfortunately been taking a sip of her tea at this point and subsequently snorted it through her nose. It took her a few moments to recover from the ensuing coughing fit but when she had, she turned incredulous, if watery, eyes to the other girl and exclaimed. "It's a bloody WHAT?"

Hermione had narrowed her eyes at Pansy's response. She set her jaw now, clearly determined not to be mocked out of her current stance.

"I'm pretty sure you heard," she snapped.

"Oh, I heard alright." Pansy continued to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just thought you might welcome the chance to deny it."

"And precisely why would I deny what it is blatantly obvious?"

Pansy sniggered. "Deny. Blatantly obvious. Oh, Granger, bless your desperate Gryffindor heart."

And all at once something seemed to cave inside Hermione, like a puppet with its strings cut her shoulders slumped and she put her head in her hands. It looked like surrender.

Pansy looked over at Hermione's bowed head and something very odd happened. Suddenly the world seemed to shift sharply to the left. A younger Pansy, listening to Draco describe his fight with a fellow first year Gryffindor, replayed itself in her head. And then the world moved back. But Pansy remembered, remembered all too well and her heart felt unsteady and a little broken.

She considered Hermione for a moment longer before reaching a decision. Pansy sighed and then addressed the other girl.

"Hermione, I know this is hard to hear." Shaking her head Pansy continued. "Trust me I've been there. But it is the truth and I can prove it." For a second she hesitated in her resolve but then her eyes connected with Hermione's and Pansy knew what she had to do.

"Look, I can prove this and I will because you need to hear it. And accept it. It's not just about Draco. There's something there, Hermione, something between those two."

Pansy shook her head again and then smiled at Hermione. "Merlin! Draco messed his hair up voluntarily at the thought that Weasley was in danger. Have you any idea what that means?"

Hermione quirked one eyebrow. "Death, Pestilence, Famine and War are going to be turning up on big, fiery horses any minute now, aren't they?"

There was a moment's pause and then both girls started laughing.

Pansy recovered first (being the slightly less hysterical of the two at this point), "Listen Granger," she said suddenly business-like. "I've kept a journal since coming to Hogwarts. In it I've recorded pretty much most things pertaining to Draco – I'm sure you can guess why. I'm willing to let you read certain entries if it will help to convince you of the truth."

Hermione looked confused at her words, the last of her strange humour wrested from her. She stared at Pansy, seeming at a loss to understand the sudden display of sympathy.

Aware of the other girl's intense scrutiny Pansy turned away. "I will have to do some pretty heavy editing first – one or two entries concerning a certain Gryffindor Know-It-All may have to be deleted, or at the very least certain expletives removed." She risked a smile at Hermione. "Expect a package by tomorrow's post."

And with that Pansy stood up and was gone.