Once Hermione—uh, Granger—had him in her care, Draco was faced with an entirely different changing room dilemma.
I won’t look, he told himself with dignity. It’s beneath me as a Malfoy. We may rape, pillage, loot and burn, but we are not Peeping Toms.
Except for Uncle Ethelfride, but nobody ever talks about him in public.
We especially do not peep at Gryffindors.
Parvati Patil’s underclothes narrowly missed hitting his head.
All right, what is this, some kind of strip show? Why am I being tempted beyond the power of rat to resist? Dirty, dirty Gryffindors. It was obscene. They should all be locked up.
Eeeew, it would be bestiality. That’s against all laws of god and man!
Well, not Uncle Ethelfride’s gods, but again, nobody ever talks about that.
Couldn’t they have kept him outside after flying lessons? But no, no, they had to keep precious Fluffy with them…
Damn my irresistible Malfoy charms! If only Grandma hadn’t been a Veela…
“Whoops, towel slipped,” Parvati giggled.
I will be strong, Draco chanted to himself. I will be strong.
“Can anyone see my top?” Granger demanded.
Bugger being strong, I’m looking. I’m so looking.
Draco turned around and beheld Ron Weasley.
“Gahhhh!”
“AHHHHHHHH!” screamed a dozen Gryffindor girls.
“Bjargle!” said Ronald Weasley, ladies’ man, and turned scarlet. “I—I’m really sorry, everyone—Hermione—Parvati—”
Hermione was clutching her gym bag to her chest. Parvati had a death grip on her towel.
“I was just let out of the infirmary—I wanted to see Fluffy…”
God damn, Draco thought. He actually seems to be telling the truth.
That’s it, he is gay.
“Take him and go!” screeched Parvati.
Ron lumbered over and picked up Draco. Draco was furious that his own personal show had been stopped, but he was also sort of touched that the big stupid lunk was better and had gone looking for him, so he didn’t squirm that much.
Hermione’s lip was sticking out just a little bit.
“He likes to watch ‘The Weakest Link,’” she told Ron. “But you haven’t got a TV…”
Draco had discovered TV just after the radio, and had been entranced.
Oh, blow, he thought. I’m going to miss my soaps.
“JUST GO!” screamed the female Gryffindors, en masse.
Draco couldn’t be sure, but he thought as Ron carried him out Granger might have blown him a kiss.
“Wasn’t that embarrassing?” inquired Ron, who was still pink.
“You big pillock,” Draco snapped. “That was naked girls. That was fun. Honestly, if you don’t stop being so bashful… Let’s face it—no looks, no money, and a soul-stirring love life involving one date with Padma Patil, a handful of dates with Granger and looking at that Delacour bint a lot. Nobody’s running after you.”
“Ron! Ron, wait!”
“Oooh, I spoke too soon.”
Chasing after Ron Weasley was the siren of the seventh year, the raunch puppet of the Ravenclaws, the don’t-we-all-wish-she-was-really-a-head-girl Head Girl, Cho “The Charmer” Chang.
Draco wasn’t that into short girls, but he knew her by reputation and all the sneaked photos in the Slytherin common room. The girl who had that heroic and severely deceased Hufflepuff as a lost love, and Potter following her around like a scarred puppy begging to be put down for three years.
Draco was beginning to doubt his judgment. There must be something to Ron Weasley he’d overlooked.
Ron’s ears were re-dyed scarlet with amazing speed.
“I, uh, Cho!”
“Yeah, that’s her name. Full marks,” Draco observed.
Cho Chang looked at him with her great big shiny eyes and smiled that bright full-mouthed smile.
Ron was mauve by now.
“I was wondering, could I stroke your—”
“Steady on, girl!” said Draco.
“Rat?” finished Cho.
“Uh—yeah. Yeah, sure,” Ron mumbled. “Um, his name’s Flumpy. Fluffy! Fluffy!”
“Flumpy?” Draco repeated, in dreadful tones.
“I know his name,” Cho said, taking Draco and beginning to pet him. She was a bit reckless about it, if you asked him. Not a girl with a gentle touch. “Everyone’s talking about Ron Weasley and his amazing rat.”
“Rawly? I mean—really?” stuttered Ron.
“You silver-tongued devil,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.
Cho fell into step with Ron.
“So how does it feel, joining the most talked about club?” She sighed. “Not as pleasant as it seems, is it?”
“I, uh, I think you’d better ask Harry,” Ron muttered.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Weasley. If a troop of Veelas in negligees came and bounced on your bed asking if there was anything they could do for you I think you’d say ‘no, but why don’t you ask Harry’?”
“Modest, modest,” said Cho, not put off. “No, Harry’s always been famous… but suddenly having everyone looking at you… assuming they know you—It’s a bit off-putting, isn’t it?”
“Well, he’s just a rat, I’m not overwhelmingly famous yet,” Ron pointed out, getting out a coherent sentence to the incredulous delight of the audience.
“No…” said Cho. “I don’t know why, I just thought you’d understand… Do you know, I haven’t been asked out on a date in two years?”
“Scumrfy?” said Ron, losing all control of his tongue.
“Prat!” howled Draco to the nothingness.
“Either they think I’m destined to be Harry Potter’s, or…” Cho looked at her feet. “I’m just—tired of it. I thought you might understand.”
“Or you thought he might hand out some of that weaselish hot stuff you seem to want.”
“I—I do,” Ron assured her hurriedly.
Cho smiled her dazzling future-Witch-Weekly-model smile. “I’m so glad we had this talk.”
“He didn’t talk that much,” Draco pointed out.
Cho let Draco fall gently into Ron’s outstretched hands. They ended up looking deeply into each others’ eyes.
“Uh—Weasley, I’m all for you getting some, but I don’t want to be crushed in between a passionate clinch… Mind the rat…”
“Ronald Weasley! Cho Chang!”
If it wasn’t Professor McI’maVirginandBitter,Okay?
Or McGonagall… whichever…
Cho went bright red and hurried off. Ron looked wretchedly guilty. Professor McSpoilSport looked scandalised.
Draco wondered whether Murphy, that vicious bastard, actually hated everyone.
The next day Ron was confiding all his troubles to Draco.
“Get a real pet,” Draco advised. “Get a girlfriend. Get a diary, for God’s sake, but stop bothering me!”
“How could I?” Ron wailed, extremely softly. “I was—well, I wasn’t going to do anything, obviously! Harry’s my best friend!”
“Get a new best friend,” Draco counselled. “Cho’s a lot better looking than Potter. Plus, this may be your only chance.”
Ron was glancing over at Potter and Hermione, who were happily playing Exploding Snap.
“He’s liked her for three years!” he murmured in distrait tones.
“That’s his problem. In fact, that’s his full-blown stalkerish obsession. Not yours.”
Draco couldn’t believe all this Gryffindorish crap. Forget the fact that he was Draco Malfoy, and that except for the fact he had all the letters in his name the word “moral” had nothing to do with him. He happened to know that Weasley hadn’t had a date since the beginning of fifth year, when Weasley and Granger had had their extremely brief liaison.
Not that he’d been paying attention, at all, but it’d been hard to miss when Granger jumped up at breakfast time and yelled that she couldn’t go out with Ron because he was jealous and controlling and she couldn’t stand fighting any longer.
Draco had a private theory that she hadn’t been able to stand looking at that red hair anymore.
Not that he’d cared.
At all.
In any way whatsoever.
“What am I going to do?” Ron demanded.
Parvati Patil ran in. “Professor McGonagall wants to see all the fifth and sixth years immediately!”
The answer appeared to be: Die of embarrassment.
“Oh no!” Ron agonised. “Oh my God, what is she going to say?”
The answer appeared to be—not much.
Professor McGonagall appeared to be more interested in her shoes than her students.
“I,” she commented. “That is, very. Come glad that you could. Talk that if you might. Want.”
“What?” whispered Gina Weasley, who was sitting by her brother and ruffling Draco’s fur.
At least, he thought it was Gina. Something like that, anyway.
“An incident has made me, er, think,” Professor McGonagall continued.
The same incident made Ronald Weasley squirm.
“So I thought this might be an opportune. I, that is. Professor Snape with me agreed.”
Draco toyed with the idea that she had proposed to Snape and been accepted. Then he thought of the wedding night and felt his mind’s eye burn.
“Er. That is—ahem.” Professor McIncoherent coughed. “Well. Mothers tell stories about storks and Cabbage Patch Charms. But uh, surprisingly…”
Mass mystification among the Gryffindors.
“Not true,” mumbled Professor McBabbling.
“What the hell is she talking about?” Ron whispered to Granger, who shook her head.
The poor, innocent little Gryffindors were completely lost.
Luckily for them, they had Draco Malfoy in their midst. His mind worked a little bit differently.
“Sex!” he shouted.
Which shout must have twigged something in an unconscious, just as his shout had triggered a response in Crabbe and Goyle, because just then someone leaped to their feet.
“Sex!” shouted the Boy Who Looked Like An Idiot in Front of Everyone.
Gina Weasley’s mouth dropped open.
Professor McGonagall blushed like a schoolgirl.
“Ah, yes. Mr Potter. That’s correct. Uh, if you’d—sit down—”
“Can she honestly think we don’t know?” whispered Hermione to a Ron who was convulsed with silent laughter.
“Well, you lot are Gryffindors,” Draco observed. “Anyway, this is all undoubtedly coming as a bit of an eye-opener for Longbottom.”
Hermione put up her hand.
“Professor, should we be taking notes? Is this on a test?”
“I—uh, no…” Professor McHumiliatedtotheDust muttered.
Hermione was in full swing now. “Is there going to be a practical demonstration?”
Ron choked and fell off his seat.
“I, uh—issue of… Protection,” mumbled Professor McPretendingSheHadn’tHeardThat.
Longbottom’s hand shot up.
“Like a Patronus Charm, professor?”
“More like an anti-Paternus Charm,” Draco muttered.
“I—uh, yes, Neville, but uh… in a more accurate way… well, no…” Professor McMumbling went on, interrupted at intervals by questions.
“Did you just say a condo?”
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom—a wand, a balloon—is this a party trick?”
“By be prepared, should we lay out ingredients?”
Draco’s personal high point of the lecture was when Parvati Patil, who hadn’t been paying much attention, asked if that “mime” was even possible and if McGonagall had ever tried it at home.
Ron was lying on the ground, gasping weakly. Potter was still blushing whenever Gina Weasley glanced over at him.
Hermione was taking notes.
“Hey, hang on a minute…” Draco said. “Professor Snape has to be doing this, too…”
Ron propped himself up on one elbow.
“Snape,” he muttered. His face split into a disbelieving grin. “Oy, Harry—Snape.”
Potter caught on right away.
“Oh, we couldn’t,” he grinned.
“Oh yes you could,” Draco said. “You must!”
Hermione, Ron and Potter left quite quickly after that.
Of course, Ron took his Fluffy along.
“An invisibility cloak?” murmured Draco from under it. “I knew I wasn’t seeing floating heads! I wondered why you people never got caught. You lucky, jammy Gryffindors, an invisibility cloak…”
Hermione, Ron and Potter were a bit of a tight fit under the cloak. Draco wondered idly if either of the boys had enough Slytherinish spine in them to be taking this opportunity to cop a feel.
He doubted it.
The Gryffindors were stopped short in front of the Slytherin dungeons, pondering in agitated whispers about how they were going to get in without a password.
Typical Gryffindors, never thinking ahead.
“Deadly Nightshade,” conjectured Hermione. “Hail the Dark Lord. Salazar Slytherin.”
Draco coughed.
“Good guesses all, but actually it’s ‘Blaise Zabini Is A Tart.’ We’re going to come up with something suitably sinister soon!” he added hastily.
“Blaise Zabini Is A Tart,” Granger said automatically.
The entrance opened.
“Wow, good guess, Hermione,” said Harry Poofter.
Draco was sick of never getting any credit.
They all crept in, unwittingly guided by Draco’s directions to the Slytherin assembly room.
Where stood Snape, who was blushing purple beneath his long and unwashed locks.
“I don’t get it, Professor,” whined Crabbe.
“I don’t think you’re explaining it right,” Goyle added plaintively.
Potter had to hold Ron up at this point.
“I know you’re not explaining it right,” murmured Blaise Zabini.
Millicent Bulstrode put her hand up.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Miss Bulstrode?”
“The Gryffindors are learning this too, right?”
“Yes, Miss Bulstrode.” Snape’s voice was weary.
“Harry Potter, too?”
“Yes, for the seventh time, Miss Bulstrode.”
“Oh.” Millicent’s eyes went unfocused with lust. “Wow.”
Granger had to hold up Potter, who seemed in danger of fainting away in horror.
“Anyway,” Snape said testily, “if anyone has any questions which do not involve Harry Potter… or Draco Malfoy, that means you, Mr Goyle…”
“Ewwwwwww!”
“Yes, Ms. Zabini?”
“Can they involve Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, sir?”
“Ewwwwwww!”
“Certainly not!”
“Let’s go,” Draco urged. “I came here to mock, not to be traumatised…”
“Sir, if you had a toad and…”
“I believe that’s illegal, Mr Nott… Yes, even in Sweden! Does nobody in my house have any interest in a healthy relationship?”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Ms. Zabini?”
“What are you doing after this lecture?”
Ron made a simmering sound behind his hands. Potter and Granger had to drag him away.
The next day, classes were back to normal.
At least, that was the intention…
Professor McGonagall had no sooner walked up to her desk than Draco decided to take evil advantage of his possession of the unconscious plane.
“Ohhhhhhh, McGonagall…” he called.
“Open at page 32,” she said crisply.
“McGonagall, remember what you were talking to these kids about yesterday.”
McGonagall went slightly pink.
“They’re remembering it too…”
“Miss Granger, open a window please…”
“They’re all thinking about it! They can’t stop thinking about it! They’re all staring at you!”
“What are you gawping at, Longbottom? Oh—I’m sorry, forgive me…”
“Especially the boys,” Draco continued relentlessly. “You know boys—simmering, bubbling, unpredictable little things… you lit the fuse and now the sex bomb’s about to go off… You can’t trust boys. You don’t know what teenage boys are thinking. Or rather, you know exactly what they’re thinking…”
McGonagall darted an outraged look at a frankly bewildered Seamus Finnigan.
“They’re evil little sex maniacs!”
“Sex maniacs…” muttered the professor, wiping sweat from her brow.
“Sorry, Professor?” said Ron.
“He heard you…” murmured Draco. “Ahahaha! They all heard you. Teenage boys are animals!”
Professor McGonagall fled. Everyone had a very nice free class, which was spent mainly in petting the adorable Fluffy.
Draco luxuriated under Granger’s caress.
“At least, some of them are,” he smirked.