5: Calling Draco Malfoy

Disclaimer: No seriously...I don't own them. Just borrowing them. Okay, fine, I'm a kleptomaniac! Are you happy now?

Warning: The phones have their final hurrah with a camera-phone finale. They will be available for autographs after the epilogue. Tartan follies, portrait madness, and very mild abuse of a Malfoy and a Snape are also included with the sincere hope this doesn't squick anyone too badly. But the TMI is intentional. Read on at your own risk.

Chapter 5: Calling Draco Malfoy

Draco was sitting at his desk, pulling at his impossibly platinum blond locks. At the moment, it would have been nice if they were actually made of platinum. It would have gone some way towards solving his financial problems. Quite the nasty shock it had been... the day he discovered Galleons didn't grow on trees, but that Mother could spend them as cheerfully as if they owned an orchard.

Narcissa had poured a great deal in the way of their resources down the pit that was defending Lucius from criminal charges, all without letting up on her personal spending in the slightest. To make matters worse, her grief (at Lucius' death in the Azkaban Jailbreak Riot) and uncertainty (at Draco's fate whilst he and Snape were making themselves scarce following the nightmare in the Astronomy Tower) seemed to drive her to take solace in what Draco considered the most heinous of all Muggle inventions: retail therapy.

As if all that wasn't bad enough, their financial manager had adopted the position that when the rat's away the cheese is fair game. Rumor had it that immediately upon hearing of Lucius' demise, the sneaky bastard had neatly embezzled several vaults' worth of Galleons, converted them to pounds, and thence to several different other types of currency, before adopting a Muggle identity. He and the cash had disappeared as thoroughly as if Evanesco'd. The trail had gone cold in Monte Carlo. Their only hope for justice at this point was that, wherever the thieving cretin had ultimately disappeared to, he had died most unpleasantly by choking on some expensive delicacy

The most annoying bit...aside from being robbed...was that the rotten wanker had been an excellent financial manager. As it turned out, the extent of Lucius' talent in that vein had been a personal inclination to be tighter than a duck's arse and the knack for hiring someone with the optimal financial skill for minimal salary. Would that he had passed even that modest ability on to his son. Or at the very minimum, whatever strategy, trick, or piece of blackmail that had kept Mother's hands out of the cookie jar.

Arithmancy be damned. Draco would have dearly loved to be adept at plain arithmetic. It would have helped considerably in making sense of the ever-shrinking balance in the Gringotts' accounts (and a few others strategically located in nations with liberal ideas about banking). Not that they were destitute, not by most wizards' standards. But as his parents had been reminding him on an almost hourly basis since the moment of his birth, they were not most wizards.

Without the threat of Lucius' wrath hanging over them, persons whom Draco had believed to be invaluably loyal turned out to be, at best, fair weather friends, and at worst, ready and willing to take advantage of the inexperienced young man. Only Severus was really trustworthy; but he wasn't the least help in rebuilding a fortune, never having had much more than the proverbial two Galleons to rub together. It was beginning to look like there was nothing for it. Draco was going to have to figure out how to make an honest...and lucrative enough for Narcissa...living.

His inclination was to invest in some sort of business, but lacking much acumen in that realm, he was proceeding with great caution. In a quest to avoid anyone put off by his reputation, he had gone so far as to begin making contacts with businessmen in the Muggle world. Draco had gone so far as to acquire a mobile phone with assistance from Severus and actually figure out how it operated.

That was an embarrassing incident he would almost be willing to have Obliviated. Neither of them entirely knew what they were about, and neither was willing to appear so. It was rather like a pair of fifth years in a brothel, trying to look as if they were entirely at ease and in control of the situation when in reality they only had the vaguest notion of what everything was, where everything went, and what to do with it if they miraculously got it there.

Draco had accepted the necessity (he was pretty certain being poor would be much, much worse), but one thing still bothered him.

How in the Nine Hells was he going to break the news to Mother?

He had nightmares about it. The most common one involved forgetting to put his mobile on silent mode and having it go off at the breakfast table. As if on cue, the familiar ring tone broke into his thoughts and made him jump.

He frowned at the display. The number wasn't familiar, but he had put out a few feelers recently. He decided to answer it. Blast these tiny buttons! Did Muggles have incredibly small fingers? "Draco Malfoy speaking," he said, trying to emulate his father's casual confidence.

Ginny grimaced, glad she wasn't using the Floo and therefore could make all the faces she felt inclined to. "Draco, this is Ginny Weasley."

Bloody hell. Not only was she unlikely to do anything for his financial health and well-being, but the Weasley chit was beyond doubt the 'single witch least likely to get him laid'...after Granger. "What do you want?" he asked. Why hadn't she used the Floo? Now he'd have to try to make his sneer audible.

"I need you to track down Severus. He and Hermione had a huge row, and we think he's gone off somewhere with intent to do something drastic," Ginny replied tersely.

Draco winced. He should have known it was inviting bad luck to even think of Granger. To say he had mixed feelings about Severus' attachment to the most lethal Muggle-born witch alive (not smart to permit the pejorative term to cross one's mind, not while Severus was still somewhere on the planet and capable of Legilimency) was an understatement. However, considering the daft sod's level of besottedness, there was a good chance he'd do something rather rash in the event they parted on bad terms.

"When did all this happen?" he asked, immediately all business.

"Almost two hours ago," Ginny said.

"You waited that long to call me? What the hell were you thinking?" he asked more shrilly than he had intended as a feeling of panic clutched his innards. In two hours, Severus could have arranged a reunion with Lucius in a (hopefully) better place. Losing his sole remaining male role model was not something he cared to contemplate.

"We had someone else looking for him," Ginny growled. Great. Draco plainly thought this was worth panicking over. Granted, if there was a contest for Slytherin Drama Queen, he would have beat all comers for the past century, but still...

"Please tell me it wasn't Potter," he begged. Amazing how one could feel one's face actually growing paler at times.

"You really do think I'm stupid, don't you? No, he and Ron were here trying to comfort Hermione. It worked so well they're lucky they aren't being checked into St. Mungo's right now. If Snape running off like this is as bad as you're implying, then you'd better get on the broomstick and track him down before it's too bloody late!"

"All right, all right! Give me a second to think!" Draco nervously smoothed his hair back a few more times, succeeding in making it look even more a fright. "Right, then. I'll save your number on my mobile, and I'll go to his place to see if I can figure out where he might be off to."

"I Flooed his place before coming over here...Hermione isn't on the Floo network. He wasn't home," Ginny objected.

Of course this couldn't be easy. "Do you have a camera phone?" he asked, not very hopeful. After all, he wouldn't expect a Weasley to have anything top-of-the-line or cutting edge.

"Yes," Ginny bit off.

"Send me a photo of Granger's flat, so I can Apparate there if necessary. I'm going to try a few places first," he said, tugging at his hair and nervously rehearsing the locations of the various hideouts he and Severus had used during their flight. Amazing; the Weasel chit had a camera phone. They must not be as special as he had thought. Stupid sneaky Muggle saleswoman.

Of course the pretentious bastard would have a camera phone. Probably had all sorts of expensive little optional whingdings that he didn't know how to use, if he even needed them. Ginny took a quick picture and sent it. "Have you got the photo?" she asked.

Draco wracked his brains to remember how the whole photo thing worked, barely suppressing a shout of elation when he finally achieved victory over the legion of arcane little buttons. He looked at the room shown in the tiny display and grimaced at the shabby surroundings. Just like Severus to pick a witch as bloody broke as he is, he reflected. "Got it. I'm off."

Ginny stuffed her phone viciously back into her pocket, vexed more out of habit than anything else. Draco had been surprisingly civil and cooperative. Perhaps that was what annoyed her. He hadn't given her any real reason to be annoyed.

That's just silly, she told herself, as she wearily flopped back into the chair opposite Hermione and poured another cup of tea. Alternating hard and soft drinks was the current strategy. She didn't need a drunk and distraught Hermione on her hands.

"Draco's worried, isn't he?" she asked, sounding quite listless.

"Draco is an overgrown crybaby who would probably be absolutely panicked over spoiling his manicure," Ginny huffed.

"He cares about Severus. He knows him well enough to know the sort of self-destructive things he can do in one of his moods," Hermione replied forlornly.

"Hermione," Ginny said, having gone from confused to furious to utterly drained, and was now at a sort of eerie stage of calm, "Draco will find him. Draco will bring him back, or I will present Draco's bollocks to him on a Beater's bat. And he knows it."

"But will he find him in time?"

"Stop worrying about Snape. He's almost as melodramatic by nature as Draco, and he's had longer to work at the fine points of delivery. He's lived this long without intentionally inflicting anything worse than a well-deserved hangover on himself; he'll survive one more night. And as much as I hate to admit it, Harry was right...couples have rows and then make up all the time. It isn't always the 'Finite Incantatem' on the relationship," Ginny said, stopping for breath.

She noticed Hermione was beginning to look quietly attentive rather than defeated. Bloody hell. Was that what it took to calm her, all along? A bloody damned lecture? "Stop worrying about your exams. You've known everything that's going to be on them, backwards and forwards, for at least a year now. You always have done so, and you always will. I know this because I know you. You are going to do fine. You are Hermione, super Gryffindor uber-brain, tamer of the Snape. Why don't you go have a lie-down until they get here?"

Hermione knew how to deal with lectures. Assimilate information. Apply it. Ace the test. She put her skills to work and was soon dozing fitfully on the sofa.

Ginny put her head in her hands and sighed. "I wonder if I could wrestle any worthwhile favors from Snape in exchange for a manual on the Care and Handling of Distraught Hermione?" she murmured softly as she took advantage of the lull to doze off.

Draco began Apparating to all the hiding places he and Snape had used in their horrible flight. It was gut-wrenching work, not at all suited to making a safe Apparition. Fortunately, eyebrows grow back.

However, it was a little painful trying to get around without any toenails. Bugger it... should he wait for the next available Healer at St. Mungo's? That would take too long. Better go avail himself of Granger's talents. He'd heard she was almost done with her apprenticeship. No doubt the Wonder Witch could patch up the results of a minor Splinching quite handily, much as he hated to admit it.

He popped into the flat depicted in the photo, cursing shrilly as he stubbed his nail-less toes on a chair.

Ginny and Hermione were immediately alert. "Where's Snape?" Ginny asked.

"Haven't found him. Listen, I..."

Draco did not get a chance to say what it was had interrupted his search. He found himself bent backwards over the cold tile of Hermione's kitchenette counter, with Hermione's foot painfully crushing his injured toes and her dangerously sharp wand digging into his throat.

"Fucking hell...HELP!" he gasped at Ginny, feeling his eyes tear up from the pain in his foot.

"Hermione, give over!" Ginny huffed tiredly, shoving her friend's wand clear. "He's no use to you dead or dismembered. Besides, you're supposed to be a Healer...do no harm, and all that?"

"Not yet I'm not," she snarled threateningly, but backed off. Thanks a load for reminding me about the whole not-quite-a-Healer-thing, Gin, she thought sourly.

Looking unbecomingly splotchy, Draco sank to the floor and pulled his shoe off his offended foot. "You're the one who bloody well asked me for help, just you remember that," he hissed, experiencing a fresh wave of agony as his sock peeled free of his bare nail bed. "I had some trouble Apparating to some of the places I thought Severus might be," he explained, still eyeing Hermione's wand nervously.

"You splinched," she said matter-of-factly.

"Only a few toenails," he protested.

"Oh, I suppose eyebrows just aren't the thing this season," she retorted, causing a little voice with a suspiciously Slavic accent to warn Hermione to treat her patients with compassion and respect. All right, all right, she sighed inwardly.

Draco couldn't for the life of him figure out what Severus saw in this b-er, witch. I'm doing her a favor, as much as I'm looking after a friend, he thought sourly. Does she have to talk to me like I'm an idiot who couldn't Apparate correctly if his life depended on it?

He deserved better than this. He was a reformed arsehole, damn it.

"All right, Draco," she said in the 'kind and patient' voice she had been practicing with a vengeance for the past three weeks. "Let me see the damage. I should be able to have you patched up in no time." She went through her checklist internally: eye contact, check; smile, check; compassion even though this is the Lesser Malfoy Prat; check, damn it.

'Nice' Granger was more unnerving than 'I'm-going-to-hex-your-balls-off' Granger, mainly because the latter was the only version with whom he was familiar. He flinched as she waved her wand over his offended digits, intoning the charm to re-grow the missing nails.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, managing to sound concerned. Finding herself surprised she actually was, at least a little.

"Not much," he confessed. He wasn't about to admit that just seeing her with a wand in hand was now, and probably would be for the rest of his life, enough to make him flinch. "Thank you," he managed to add, awkwardly.

"It's nothing, really," she said, equally uncomfortable with pleasantries. "Here, let me fix your eyebrows before you go."

This time, he managed not to shy away, though having that wand near his face was more nerve wracking than seeing it near his foot. Draco quickly resumed his shoes and stood up. "I've got a few more places to check...he'll be in one of them for certain. I, um, it'll be all right, Granger," he stammered. Then he Disapparated out of there before he could say something more awkward, or the Confundus Curse the Weasley bint was probably using wore off and Granger remembered how much she hated him.

"Wow... he... wasn't a jerk," Hermione managed. The only other time Draco had been that civil to her was when he arranged the whole potion-delivery system that started this mess. "Bloody hell," she whispered.

"What now?" Ginny asked.

"If Draco finds Severus, I'll owe him... again," she said, shaking her head in disgust.

"Bad luck," Ginny said sympathetically. "If this keeps up, he may even figure it out one day."

Having resumed his search (in a highly motivated mood), Draco found himself examining a regrettably familiar cave. He felt puzzled. Clearly, Severus had been here. Freshly emptied bottles cluttered the table, and a candle guttered on the rocky shelf above it. But where had he gone?

All right... if he could remember how to use the camera phone, he could remember that spell. Severus was a great one for inventing spells and had taught Draco a variation on a tracking spell, which would allow Draco to determine where Severus had last Apparated if he could find something with which he'd been in physical contact. Considering how small the cave was, eventually he'd touch something that would yield an image. One of those cups was a likely suspect... Nothing from the large one, perhaps try the small one? No. Okay, try sitting on the stool...

Hm. He must have gotten something a little wrong when casting the spell, since the only impression he could pick up was...the thought of Dumbledore's portrait?

"He went to Hogwarts?" Draco whispered aloud. That probably meant he was talking to Prof- Headmistress McGonagall. Great Merlin. Talk about hitting the Hostile Gryffindor Witch trifecta. He felt fairly certain that Minerva McGonagall was only slightly better disposed towards him than towards a wad of fresh Drooble's stuck to her shoe.

Apparating to the front gates alone was like a punch in the stomach. Feeling like a thief, the sole surviving male Malfoy stole up the path to the castle, trying to remember the route to the Headmaster's...no, the Headmistress'...office.

Minerva tracked down Peeves and the rampaging suits of armor. That was the easy part; they left a trail of devastation that would have been detectable by a blindfolded Niffler with parsnips up its nostrils. The army of armor was dealt with fairly easily, though it took some time, a few Full Body binds, a lecture on duty and discipline from Sir Nicholas, some Levitation, and a lot of shoving from Filch to get everything returned to its proper alcove. Peeves was, as usual, more of a handful. The Poltergeist was so worked up that it took the Bloody Baron and threat of exorcism to get him back in line.

The Headmistress was trudging back to her quarters, yawning openly and reflecting that it was just as well tomorrow was Saturday, when she overheard some familiar voices.

"Well, aren't you a lovely young thing? Tell me my dear, do you..."

"Phineas! Stop harassing that child, you old letch."

"Did you hear her complaining, Dilys? Find someone else to annoy, you old busybody. If I'm going to be exiled from my place of honor, at least I'm going to enjoy myself."

"What are you two doing here?" Minerva asked in astonishment.

"Ask that sucrose-powered scofflaw holding a conference in your office," Phineas grumbled. "One would have thought he'd assume a little more dignity, once properly ensconced in a frame."

"If ever someone needed to get out more, it's you, Phineas," Dilys scolded.

"That's rather what I was trying to do when you so rudely interrupted," he retorted, glaring across the hall. He turned back to the blushing shepherdess with a much more charming tone of voice. "Now, where were we, my dear?"

"On your way back to my office," Minerva snapped, beginning to puff as she picked up her pace. Bloody Mary's Ghost! What madness had hit the school tonight?

Back in the office, Severus, Reggie, and Albus heard light footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs. It definitely wasn't Minerva...maybe the head Boy or Girl with a late-night emergency?

"Incoming!" Reggie squeaked and turned invisible.

An uncharacteristically harried-looking Draco Malfoy burst into the room through the open door before Severus could Disillusion himself, and began haranguing him without preamble.

"Look, Severus, I just got back from your witch's flat, and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty in there. The next man who darkens her doorstep without you in tow is going wind up with one very powerful, very angry, witch going Bella Lestrange all over his arse. She's already hexed Potty and the Weasel, and she's just itching for an excuse to make certain Mother never has any grandchildren to spoil."

"How did you get involved, anyway?" Snape asked, stalling for time. He wanted to reconcile with Hermione, but he would much rather it were not posthumously.

"The female Weasley...you know, the little chit that possesses suspicious traces of intellect...thought I might be able to find you. She's there now, trying to prevent total Granger meltdown. I give it fifteen more minutes before she has to cut her losses and get the hell out, in the interest of self-preservation."

They were interrupted by a chuckle from Albus' portrait. "Don't keep the lady waiting, my boy! It quite sounds as if the Obliviators will have quite the job on their hands unless you reassure her promptly."

Just then, Minerva swept in like the Spirit of Vengeful Tartan.

"So this is the 'conference' Phineas was complaining about! I found him sulking in that painting of the shepherdess with Dilys taunting him from behind a still life across the hallway. Would any of you lads mind telling me what the hell is going on here?" It was remarkable how little humor all that plaid evoked when framing a face that so plainly meant business.

Albus smiled apologetically from the wall as the visible three-dimensional miscreants suddenly became fascinated with empty portrait frames in the vicinity. "Sorry to borrow your office without notice, Minerva dear," he said. "But I assure you, it was all for a good cause. It seems Severus and Hermione had a little misunderstanding this evening. However, I do believe I have managed to talk some sense into him, and Draco has just arrived as an emissary of good will from Miss Granger. In light of her response to his abrupt departure, I have advised him to return to her and resubmit his marriage proposal in less equivocal terms. But perhaps you have a different perspective on the matter?"

"I most certainly do," she said solemnly, pulling herself up to her full height and glaring daggers up at both Severus and Draco, as though they were a pair of particularly ill-trained Slytherin puppies that had just done something unpleasant on her office rug. They flinched slightly as she swept past them, opened the Floo, and grabbed a jar of Floo powder from the mantle. "Mr. Malfoy!" she called in her most commanding voice so that he practically hopped to her side. "To the Leaky Cauldron with you, and I am making it YOUR responsibility to see that Mr. Snape Apparates to the nearest designated point in the vicinity of Miss Granger's flat as soon as he comes through. Do I make myself perfectly clear, lad?"

"Yes, ma'am!" he exclaimed, all but clicking his heels and saluting. He dove into the fire with alacrity, glad he had gotten off so easily. Since it was clearly his fate to be ordered around by disgruntled and powerful Gryffindor witches this unfortunate night, he was not about to argue. He had seen fate at work enough in his life so far to be absolutely positive that it would only return to bite him in the arse later, were he fool enough to resist.

"And YOU!" she shouted at Snape with sufficient force behind her words that he, too, was startled forward. "Don't you dare think of detouring or delaying! That poor lass has cooled her heels for nearly two bloody years while you hemmed and hawed! Get your arse over to her and propose...'twill be much easier on your crotch than straddling the fence!" With that, she tossed Floo powder on his shirt, yelled out the destination, and shoved him through the Floo, giving him a quick sideways kick to the bum with her tartan-slippered foot for good measure to make sure he went all the way through.

"You've been wanting to do that for at least the last two decades," Albus accused in reference to the gratuitous kick, his beard quivering with chuckles.

"Longer," Minerva said, sinking into her Headmistress' chair with a wide grin on her face. "There were no few times I'd like to have done it when he was a student! I swear, there are times when nothing less than a baffie to the backside will make him take notice."

Everard, first of the Headmasters to return from his wanderings in other paintings, shook his head at Albus. "The things we put up with because you're the man with Hogsmeade's High Street, including a fully stocked Honeydukes, in the background of your portrait," he remarked.

"So that's how you convinced them," Minerva said. "I did wonder."

The occupants of the other frames were straggling back from their various jaunts through the castle's portrait system.

"You know, I'd quite forgotten about the painting of monks in their wine cellar," Armando Dippet said jovially, giving a little hiccup. "We really should, ah, inspect the other paintings in the castle more often."

"Speak for yourself, you barmy old tippler," grumbled Headmaster Pontius Hooper, distinguished Hufflepuff. "I got taken for three Sickles, five Knuts by those bloody card sharks near Gryffindor Tower."

"Yes, that was quite a lot in your day, wasn't it, Pontius?" Phineas asked with a smirk. He was recovering. The shepherdess had been rather nice, even if there wasn't much he could do to reap the benefits of her good will what with that pesky Derwent witch spying on him.

"I see you didn't find any prunes," Dilys sniffed, causing his scowl to snap back into place.

Minerva shook her head. "You can spend the rest of the night sniping at each other and working on a 'Portrait's Night Out' rotation, if you like. I'm going to bed. If Hermione doesn't send me an update soon, would you be so kind as to take a peep at her engagement ring while she's at work and report back to me, Dilys dear?" she asked with a yawn.

"Consider it done," Dilys beamed.

Draco was already dusting himself off when Snape tumbled through the Floo. The younger man picked up his mentor, slapped a few cinders to the floor, and started hustling him towards the door.

"Where are we going?" Snape asked, feeling the weight of his invisible tormentor still clinging to his shoulder...mercifully silent, for once...as Draco pulled him along.

"You heard the lady," Draco replied. "We're Apparating to your witch's flat...do not pass 'Go,' do not collect 200 Galleons." He was tired of being indirect. At the moment, the sooner he got clear of this mess and into bed, the happier he would be. In fact, he was at the point where he didn't care that he would be alone in said bed, completely surrounded by no beautiful witch whatsoever.

"Since when do you listen to Gryffindors?" Snape asked in amazement.

"Since when do you shag one?" Draco retorted. "Look, you're too old to be fannying about like this. Witches aren't exactly falling off broomsticks into your lap at this point in time..."

He makes it sound as if they once did, Severus thought, half-sourly, half-wistfully.

"...and I'm too young to die. So you're going to go to Granger and either kiss and make up, as recommended by the Hogwarts Brain Trust, or at least break it off more gracefully. You have until we Apparate there to figure out which. I'm tired, unaccustomedly dirty, and still have one scheme of questionable usefulness to try to implement before the night is over. But I owe you, and always will, and I'm not letting you go until you go there and get this sorted! Oh, and I'm not about to land in her living room again. You'll have to take me Side-Along to the Apparition point in her neighborhood."

Severus, equal parts shocked, annoyed, and touched, managed to do as he was told. "I don't recall you being this... decisive," he remarked as arrived in the alley behind the Chinese takeaway.

"Indecision doesn't take you very far when looking after Mother," he said tiredly.

After several more minutes of briskly hustling along, they were at Hermione's door. Snape turned to Draco and asked solemnly, "You do realize, I wouldn't have had this relationship had you not convinced her to make my deliveries to St. Mungo's?"

Draco grimaced. "If that was some sort of thank you, keep it. I'm going on the record in this mess as having only been repaying a portion of a significant debt, and following orders." With that, he knocked on the door and yelled unceremoniously, "I've got him!"

Ginny was closest...both to the door and to being awake...so she wasted no time in getting it open. Even with that head start, Hermione managed to nearly bowl her over trying to reach the door.

"Severus, I love you," she babbled frantically. "Please, let me explain about..."

Severus was in no mood to hear explanations. He simply cut off her words by rushing at her and crushing her to him, regardless of trampled books, papers, and Ginny, who was nearly shoved into the table. "I love you, too...for Hera's sake, if I'm ever fool enough to try storming out on you again, Petrify me or something," he mumbled fervently into her mess of hair.

Ginny opened her mouth, shut it again, and ducked past the tightly clinched couple out the still open door. At this point, she was pretty well convinced that her friend and said friend's amour were both, as Ron would put it, 'absolutely mental,' and she was in no way qualified to deal with them. Draco slammed the door on a scene he'd really prefer not to see, thanks very much, and followed her.

On her way to the corner, she called Harry to confirm that all was well. She wasn't absolutely certain of that, of course...but to salve her conscience, she would stay within earshot fifteen minutes or so, just in case someone needed to contact St. Mungo's to deal with a few Magical Injuries.

Draco had other ideas. He calculated that if Severus was going to make up with his off-the-broom Muggle-born, they'd be shagging like Kneazles shortly, and he frankly didn't want to be within a mile of that. If they weren't going to make up, he'd prefer not to be a witness at the trial. Not to mention he had an inkling of a plan...

As soon as Ginny put away her phone, she found herself face to face with Draco. Before she could say 'Hi,' 'Good-bye,' or 'Go to Hell,' he grabbed her around the waist and she found herself being dragged off in a Side-Along Apparation.

Ron and Harry both showed up at the Burrow.

"Did she get you?" Ron asked, looking Harry over with concern.

"Just my 'new' arm," Harry replied, rolling up his left sleeve and checking the spot below his elbow where the magical prosthetic fitted in. "It really only conveys sensation from my fingers and palm, so hitting me that high is no bother." He rubbed the slight scorch mark off the realistic looking flesh and flexed his fingers. "They've sure come a long way since Moody's stump. Sometimes I forget which parts are original," he joked.

Ron understood why Harry had come along with him instead of going home right away. Any time Harry had a trying experience, he hated to go home to Luna until he had calmed down slightly. Which made Ron feel slightly guilty for what he was about to do, but...

"Harry," he said, employing his best reasonable tone (and hoping he wasn't achieving that vocal effect through his toes), "if Hermione manages to reel that bat of hers back in, it's probably for the best."

"WHAT?" Harry yelped, leaping away from Ron as if his other best friend in the world had just hit him with a Stinging Hex...in his good arm, this time. "Mind if a borrow a page from your book and ask if you're mental?"

"Think about it," Ron reasoned. "This is a guy who spent the better part of his life answering to two different terminally bossy people without losing...well, all of his mind, anyway. He knows how to deal with someone who's clearly off their broom without killing them or getting killed himself."

"You seem to be forgetting your Snape history," Harry grumbled darkly. He had seen Dumbledore's Pensieve memories like everyone else at Snape's trial had. But only he had actually witnessed the act that precipitated the trial, and it wasn't the sort of thing you got over readily. "And surely you don't think Hermione compares to Voldemort?"

"I dunno, mate... There were times...about once a month...everything but the scales," Ron said grimly, grimacing slightly at hearing the deplorable name. It didn't evoke fear anymore, but the facial twitch was a hard habit to break. "You only dated her...briefly. Living with her was a whole other game of Quidditch. Two Bludgers, no Beaters."

Harry sighed. He really wasn't qualified to comment on that statement, since what he and Hermione had...briefly...almost couldn't be construed as even dating. When Ron was right, he was right. It was downright unnerving. Sort of like a real prophecy from Trelawney.

"I just want her to be happy," Harry finally said. "You and Hermione are my first real friends. I think of you as my family. I don't know a hell of a whole lot about family, but I do know I care about both of you being happy. It was simpler when I thought you'd be happy together."

"Simpler maybe for you. It was bloody difficult for us," Ron grumbled. "But I know what you mean. I thought it would be simple, too. You and Ginny, me and Hermione... It was all quite tidy on parchment. I know Mum thought so. It's too bad we all get along best when we can each retreat to our separate corners if necessary."

Harry's phone rang. He listened, made a few terse remarks, and rang off.

"Ginny? Hermione?" Ron asked, anxiously.

"She says Snape got there, and everything is quiet now. Seems they've made up, after all. And Ginny says..." Harry swallowed heavily before continuing... "that he's got a ring to give her."

Ron looked blankly at Harry for a moment. "A what? You mean don't mean..."

"Bloody git's probably already proposed. And considering how Hermione behaved tonight, I'll wager she'll accept. If she does, I guess we'll...we'll have to figure out how to be civil to the bastard, for her sake," Harry said glumly.

"Well, that's a relief! It'll be much easier once they're back to shagging regularly and in a decent mood," Ron piped up cheerfully. His newfound resolve to remain wisely silent was thoroughly effaced by relief at the drastic decrease in his chances of future close encounters of the canary kind.

"Ron," Harry said, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and turning decidedly greenish, "I said I was ready to live with Hermione's decision and attempt to be civil to Snape. I didn't say anything about wanting to make a habit of speculating on their personal life."

"Sorry," Ron replied with a heartfelt groan. "Wish I hadn't said it, myself. Now that I think of it, that thought is only a little less disgusting than belching slugs."

Harry sniggered. Enough years had gone by that that was finally somewhat amusing...to him, at least.

Ron punched him in the arm. "Drop it, or I'll find something to say about Hagrid and Madame Maxime together."

Harry clutched at his throat, making gagging noises. "Puh-LEASE," he groaned, only partially pretending agony. "Do that and I'll tell you about the time at Grimmauld place when I walked in on your parents."

Ron gave an agonized yell. "No, no, I can't hear you, LA, LA, LA, LA!" he sang at the top of his voice, a most high and lonely place (lonely because it could empty a room in two notes) as he clamped his hands over his ears.

They both dissolved into laughter. Ron quickly sobered up and looked askance at Harry. "Tell me you were joking about that last bit."

Harry sat up, looked Ron straight in the eye, and lied, "Of course I was!"

He wasn't about to relive that exceedingly brief but traumatic event, especially since the other two parties involved hadn't noticed him as he popped the door carelessly open, then immediately dove back behind its comforting opacity. He still considered himself lucky he hadn't gone blind. If he pretended otherwise long enough, it had never happened...right?

All he knew was, whoever still swore by Merlin's hairy arse plainly hadn't seen Arthur's.

Ron shot him one more peculiar look, but decided he'd not tempt his feet to leave the safety of the floor. "Ready to go home and unload tonight's adventures on Luna?" he asked neutrally. Not that he wouldn't make an effort if Harry still needed to vent more before leaving, but he had practice next morning. At least a few hours' sleep were in order.

At the mention of Luna, Harry's face took on a dreamy, faraway expression, not terribly unlike that of Miss Lovegood's signature mien.

Ron reflected that he was glad he'd managed to steer clear of Luna. As much as he liked her, he'd hate to go about with such a goofy expression on his face. "You know, when Hermione talks about Snape, she looks a little bit like you do now," he remarked.

Harry pulled himself out of his Luna-reverie. "Really?" he asked in honest surprise. He considered what thoughts had coincided with his smile. With shock, he realized that the thrust of his musings was that, when he was with Luna...he was home. Was that how Hermione felt about Snape? Bizarre. Yet, if it were somehow true...

"I think I'll owl Hermione tomorrow," he finally said. "I might owe her an apology, of some sort. Luna usually has some interesting insights...once I get them translated."

"I'll bet," Ron chuckled. "I'll check in on Hermione sometime tomorrow afternoon, after practice. Hopefully he'll have cleared out by then. I'm not ready to practice being civil just yet."

Harry snorted. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready," he confessed. "But what the hell? I killed Voldemort. I imagine if I keep telling myself it's for Hermione, I can keep from trying to kill Snape." And with that, he bid Ron goodnight and Apparated home to Luna.

Ron's last fuzzy thought as he tumbled into bed was Harry really needs to get his arse off the fence and marry his nutters little witch.

Author's Note:

Baffie: slipper. For best results, apply to backside with foot in residence.

No insult to Arthur Weasley was intended in this story. Some of the best people on earth have hairy arses. And if you're waiting for me to elaborate on that, get comfy. It ain't happening this lifetime.

Duh-DUH-DUN! Did Severus actually propose? Did Hermione accept? Will Harry, in fact, get his arse off the fence and ask Luna to marry him? Will Ron wake up in time for Quidditch practice? What in blue blazes is Draco doing with Ginny? And for the love of soap in dirty mouths everywhere, will Reggie FINALLY get to turn visible again? These and other equally inane questions may or may not be answered in the next chapter!!!