15

* * * November 1, 1997 (continued) * * *

Draco woke a dozen times during the night with a dull pain in his jaw from grinding his teeth. When at last he woke to sunlight streaming between the velvet draperies, he felt about as rested as if he'd spent the night boxing with a kangaroo. And to make the morning complete, he could hear a muffled male voice out in the common room.

Slept on the divan, did you? At least you didn't make it into Granger's bed. Draco wasn't particularly hungry and he definitely wasn't in the mood to come face-to-face with Harry Potter, so he pulled up the bedclothes and settled grumpily into his pillow.

But Draco was not in the habit of allowing himself to be trapped in his own bedroom, and quickly became bored. He always kept a carafe of water on the bedside table, not liking to wake up thirsty in the night, and he decided a bit of entertainment was in order. He Summoned the potion, mixed a drop into solution, and hurled it at the bedroom door, all without getting up.

Potter was half-reclining on the divan, his hair resembling a sheepdog's arse even more than usual. Bare shoulders poked out above the blanket--the same white blanket that Granger had once draped over him. Granger was in a red bathrobe he'd never seen before, sitting in the armchair. At least she wasn't in his lap this morning.

"... nothing for today or tomorrow; I thought maybe we could go Diagon Alley. Ron's in London right now. He's probably hung over from the party last night but later on I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Granger gave him an indulgent look. "I have homework, Harry. And besides, I can't just get up and leave. I'm Head Girl, I have to behave!"

Potter snorted. "Hermione, please. You can't fool me. You've read all the books to the end of term and have the homework done for the next two weeks."

"I don't either! I've spent the past week taking care of things for the party and the ball; I'm behind on everything!"

"Meaning you only have one week's worth of homework done in advance." He rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest! Have some fun with us."

"Not right now, Harry, okay? Maybe later. Christmas hols are coming up soon, we can plan--"

"Mother of Merlin, I refuse to plan a fun afternoon more than six weeks in advance. I swear, you'll drive me stark raving mad someday." Draco nodded in silent agreement before he remembered who was speaking.

"Hey," said Potter in a sharper tone of voice. "I know just the thing. In three weeks, Ron and I are going to America. They have this holiday coming up called Thanksgiving. All they do is lay about all day eating roast turkey and watching Quidditch. Absolutely brilliant, if you ask me. Anyway, we're opening the exhibition match between the American and European all-stars. Ron's going to throw up the Quaffle, and I'm releasing the Snitch! Viktor will be Seeking for Europe--and that's right, Fred and George are doing the pre-game show! They competed with forty other fireworks dealers for the contract, and they've promised it'll be spectacular.

"Come with us, Hermione! We'll spend the whole day stuffing ourselves silly. We've got a private box, and dinner with the teams afterward! It'll be a lark, won't it? Say you'll come!"

She was cringing as though trying to squeeze under the leather cover of the cushions. "I don't know, Harry. I mean, you know how these things are. No free lunches. When's the press conference?"

Potter mashed his lips in distaste. "Look, Ron and I will take care of all that. All the 'duty' is before the match: We ride in a parade that morning and wave at all the kiddies, then there's a meet-and-greet, and then we open the game and we're done. You don't even have to arrive until the game starts, if you want."

She eyed him suspiciously. "But dinner with the teams... That sounds like a photo op."

Potter sighed. "Strictly candids. They promised no reporters. The players don't want to work the press all through dinner, either."

Hermione folded her arms defiantly. "I don't like the sound of it, Harry. They told us the same thing in Cairo that time, and we ended up stuck at the 'dinner' for five hours. I missed the Pyramids!"

Nodding, Harry gazed glumly at the floor. "I haven't forgotten."

"Not to mention that with all those famous athletes AND the two of you, there's bound to be a line of autograph hounds waiting outside!" There was no mistaking the accusation in her tone.

"Oh, come on. That even happened here, last night, for heaven's sake. It's just part of the life, Herms."

She scoffed. "And will you be sending out your 'entertainment director' to pick them over?"

Potter grinned wickedly at the real source of her resistance. "Well, that depends," he purred, settling back into his pillow, "on whether you'll let me bring you up to my room that night."

Draco's fists clenched, but Granger's expression of utter scorn kept him from casting a hex right through the door. "Oh, right, Harry. Next you'll be telling me that you and Ron will be drawing straws to see who gets the privilege."

"No way! I'd never leave it up to chance like that. Besides, that bastard would probably cheat." Potter winked, sending Granger into a fit of giggles. "No, no, it would be lady's choice," he continued, shifting his shoulders so that the blanket slid down and revealed a little of his chest. "It's only fair. And not to sway your decision, but I've become a very good lover," he added, the mischief rapidly evaporating from his voice.

If it could have been heard, Draco would have made a gagging sound, but Granger beat him to the punch anyway. "Yes, yes," she clucked, "I'm quite sure you're a legend in your own mind."

"Ouch!" Potter laughed, bouncing up from the pillow and throwing it at her in a downright brotherly way. "Well, maybe so," he admitted cheerfully after she hurled it back at him. "But I really do get my share of compliments. Perhaps you could give me some unbiased marks..."

Granger's sparkling eyes suddenly turned serious. "Oh, Harry. Would you really want me to become just another fuck?" Draco bared his teeth in what was almost a smile at the echo of his own words.

Potter sat bolt upright, his mien suddenly serious. The blanket fell into an abrupt heap in his lap, revealing a large silvery scar through the left side of his chest. Draco gasped despite himself; it was obviously a terrible injury, and Potter had never revealed it to the public. There had been a scandal when a photographer had slipped into his room at St. Mungo's: Potter put the fellow under the Imperius from his hospital bed and made him destroy the film on the spot. Then he demanded the fellow be Obliviated so he couldn't draw or describe what he'd seen. Never show your enemies how badly you're wounded.

"Hermione, no!" Potter's voice was painfully sincere. "You're my best friend." He placed his hand over the scar. "You saved my life! You saved everyone. Everyone in the world." Granger tossed her head, but Potter took hold of her shoulders and twisted his upper body to look her in the eye. "No matter what happens, Hermione, you'd never be like those girls, to me. Ever." He pulled in his lower lip and softened his grip, sliding his hands along her upper arms. "No matter what."

The girl slumped her head with a weak, skeptical grin, but she leaned forward and gathered him into an A-frame hug. Potter's face looked utterly at peace as he rested his head on her shoulder. Draco gazed at them, spellbound, then raised his hand impatiently to flick away a tear.