Well, before we start, I'll just mention that there are the translations at the bottom for the Welsh used here. On we go. ^.^

Y Trydydd. The Third.

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Hermione was off talking to McGonagall about moving forward in classes over the break, and Harry found himself in the library. He supposed he should be taking advantage of the now quite and relatively empty common room, but it almost seemed more comfortable in the library. More constant, in a way. Its atmosphere didn't go from friendly to hostile to overly sexual over the course of a few minutes, nor was it as incredibly loud. Merlin knew he loved his house, but Harry had never really been able to stand just how loud they could get even when nothing was happening. His lips turned up in a small smile as he imaged the librarian's reaction if the Gryffindors were all let loose in her space. Survivors would be unlikely.

He turned the page in his book, trying to refocus his attention. He'd picked up the book weeks ago, but hadn't found the time to sit down and look through it. Now, however, he was finding it difficult to keep his thoughts on the book.

To Harry's chagrin, he couldn't get that damned Slytherin out of his head. He had never really noticed just how attractive Malfoy was. Sure, he'd joked with others frequently about how perfect he always was, and how girls and guys alike were falling all over him, but Harry had never really looked at him.

When he saw that very Slytherin approaching, Harry groaned quietly. Of course, why wouldn't Malfoy be here? He couldn't possibly have better things to do. Although, Harry realized, at least he'd be able to tell Hermione he had practiced his Welsh without completely lying.

"Potter. Wouldn't have expected to find you here. I didn't realize you were even literate." Harry raised his eyes from the page, trying to match Malfoy's cool gaze.

"Do you want something, Malfoy?" He was determined to keep his temper this time. He had realized fairly recently why it was that he so often blew up when Malfoy was concerned: he felt upstaged by the Slytherin's ever-calm demeanour.

"You trying to catch Granger's eye with this?" the blond asked, smirking. He shook his hair out of his eyes, the pale strands catching the grey light from the window. "I'm surprised she's not in here. Let me guess, she's begging some professor to reconsider the less than perfect grade they gave her?"

"Rwyt ti hardd, ond rwyt ti cythruddo." Harry said, rolling his eyes as he refused to let himself blush. It was true, though. Malfoy raised an eyebrow coolly and perched elegantly on the edge of the table without a word. Harry frowned slightly. "Afal." He nearly missed the amused smile that graced the Slytherin's lips before the calm, almost disinterested appearance was back. He regarded Malfoy suspiciously for a moment before dropping his gaze back to his book.

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-Welsh-English-

Rwyt ti hardd, ond rwyt ti cythruddo – You're beautiful, but you're irritating. (Just a note – the 'dd' in hardd is pronounced 'th' like 'the'. Just because I know it looks...interesting when thrown into the English. Sigh. Not that that changes much, but still. Maybe it's just 'cause I see 'rwyt ti' as 'you are'...)

Afal – apple (No, Harry didn't mean to call him an apple. But that word jumped out at me as I scanned my vocab list for something else. I have had that happen many times, though usually with French. So I'll end up calling something by some weird name unintentionally.)

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That's chapter three! It has been extremely uncooperative, so it's not very long, nor am I overly fond of it. My apologies. Hopefully the next one will be more interested in working with me…

We-e-ell, we're going to have translations down here. 'Cause I think it would break up the story too much to put it into the actual text up there...And I'm sure I won't be able to refrain from adding comments in... ^.^

Also, although I'm trying to make this more light-hearted, Harry frequently reminds me that he went through a load of crap the year before…So that tone might keep popping up… If you find it's taking over, let me know, sil vous plait.

So, with that said, I shall leave you for now. Reviews of any sort, of course, are brilliant.

Yours 'till death,

Caelistis.