As usual, and against regulations, the buckles on his robes were undone, showing the expensive clothes underneath — a dark gray sweater today, and black trousers, and the ubiquitous green-and-silver tie. Draco was shorter than Ron, but his slenderness and something about his bearing made him seem taller than he was.
'You're not wearing your prefect badge,' said Ron wearily. 'Technically, I could take points from Slytherin.'
'Technically, I am wearing my badge. Just not where you can see it.'
Draco smiled his most charming smile, and Ron resisted the urge to kick him. 'What do you want, Malfoy? I haven't got all day.'
'I want to know where Hermione is,' said Draco with admirable directness.
'I don't know,' said Ron tightly. 'Why don't you ask Harry? Or don't you know where he is either?'
Draco's eyes went unfocused for a moment. 'He's in the north fifth floor stairwell, going upstairs.'
Ron shook his head. 'Don't do that, it's creepy.' He stared as the other boy's eyes came back into focus and Draco looked at him inquiringly.
'Right, I forgot. You don't need to find Harry to talk to him, so why don't you just ask him…'
'Because he doesn't know either,' said Draco. 'These days he doesn't know where he is most of the time. Anyway, he doesn't need the extra worry.'
'Whereas I do?'
'You can handle it,' said Draco, once again demonstrating his spectacular ability to make a compliment sound like an insult.
Ron sighed. 'I do not know where Hermione is,' he said, enunciating clearly. 'She didn't tell me she wasn't coming to the meeting, she just didn't show up, and when and if you find her, you can tell her for me that I don't appreciate her sticking me with you lot on my own. Got that?'
'I shall make some very strongly worded statements on your behalf,'
Draco promised solemnly.
Ron stared at him. 'Do you ever say anything that isn't sarcastic?'
'No,' said Draco cheerfully. 'Not really.'
'Why do you want to know where Hermione is, anyway?'
'I'm worried about her.' Draco's voice was uninflected, giving away nothing. 'I wanted to talk to her.'
'She'll be at the match this afternoon, she goes to all Harry's matches, you know that.'
'I won't have a chance to talk to her then, I'll be too busy winning the game.'
'Fat chance, Malfoy,' said Ron, with some satisfaction. 'You can't win against us. Harry's developed some new strategies that will knock you off your Firebolt.'
'Really?' Draco looked politely interested. 'Well, then you'll get to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation again, and we know how much you like that.'
'Shhhh!' Ron hissed frantically, whipping around to see if anyone had overheard. 'Okay, now, in what universe is that 'never talking about it again ever'?'
'Oh yeah,' said Draco, with great unconcern. 'Oops.'
Ron threw his hands up into the air. 'Oh, go away, Malfoy. And if you want to find Hermione so badly, look where we always bloody look. She's probably in the library.'
The library was nearly deserted: of the few students who sat studying at the long tables, Ginny recognized only Slytherin Chaser Malcolm Baddock, Hannah Abbott, engrossed in a tome entitled The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, and Parvati Patil, sound asleep in a corner. Even the vulture-like Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen.
Probably lurking in a corner of the stacks, waiting to catch unsuspecting students who dared dog-ear their textbook pages. Ginny leaned back, her eyes flicking to the clock on the south wall above the door. The face of it changed daily, depending on what school activities were scheduled.
Today, in the four-o-clock spot, the words Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch Match glowed red and green, matching the decorations on the Christmas tree in the corner. Ginny was pleased to see that she had at least another hour and a half before she needed to start getting ready for the match; plenty of time to read another chapter in the latest tale from Witch Weekly's Dragon Heartstrings romance novel series. She had become hooked on them after finding a secret stash of the novels under her mother's collection of kitchen towels. She knew they were trash but she couldn't help herself; this newest one was entitled Passionate Trousers, and so far she was enjoying it very much.
The heaving waves on the vast, black ocean beneath the castle sent a salty spray flying up over the rocks, leaving beads of water to form on the exposed alabaster skin of the tall, flame-haired witch who stood on the high balcony. Her salty tears mixed with the sea spray as she faced Tristan de Malcourt, the wizard who had loved her in every way it was possible for a woman to be loved, and then abandoned her to a cruel fate.
Rhiannon laughed mirthlessly as she faced him now. 'Tristan,' she said. 'I suppose you thought I would not find you.'
'On the contrary.' His firm gray eyes flashed. 'Thou art a very determined witch.'
She raised her chin. 'Yes, I am.'
He turned to walk away. 'It will do thee no good, Rhiannon. Thou must find another, I cannot love thee.'
'No!' She flung herself at him, and almost bounced off his broad, muscular chest, so broad and muscular was it. 'It is you, and only you, that I must be with!'
'What art thou saying?' He spun to face her, his robes swirling around his sturdy, muscular calves. 'Thou knowest I need my space!'
'It is too late, Tristan! For — I am with child!'
He goggled at her.
'Yes,' she repeated. 'With child!'
The words hung in the salty air like overripe peaches. She gazed at him, her huge dark eyes filling with tears — and then he had lunged towards her and gathered her to his broad, manly chest, raining fiery kisses on her full, flowerlike lips. 'Rhiannon!' he cried. 'This changes everything! My darling! My angel! My light! My life!'
Heedlessly she abandoned herself to his caresses as his long, elegant masculine fingers dispensed with her bodice buttons more swiftly than a practiced Summoning Spell. She leaned back against the balustrade and let him do with her as he wished, her breathing becoming a hungry panting as he shoved her skirts up around her thighs, his hands stroking her creamy skin, and she tried to banish the worrying thought that perhaps she should tell him that the child she carried was not his after all, but the child of the evil Dark Wizard Morgan, Tristan's most hated enemy…
'She should probably tell him,' said a voice behind her. 'Otherwise, I envision things getting very rocky for them farther down the road.'
Ginny spun around with such suddenness that Passionate Trousers was knocked to the floor at her feet. She felt herself go scarlet. She had never quite realized before how garish the cover actually was — 'From the Dragon Heartstrings series! Where bosoms actually heave!' it proclaimed in glittering letters, just above the illustration of a swooning witch being given what looked like CPR by a shirtless blond wizard in alarming velvet trousers. As she watched, the wizard looked up from what he was doing, winked, and blew her a kiss. This would have been embarrassing in any case, but was doubly so with Draco Malfoy standing next to her, looking tall, blond, and immaculately composed. As she looked from the book to him his mouth twitched into a slow smile, his gray eyes lighting up.
'Oh,' she said awkwardly. 'You.'
He bent down and picked up Passionate Trousers, whether to glance at it or hand it to her she didn't know or care. She reached out and yanked the book out of his grip, shoving it under her Astronomy textbook.
'I was enjoying that,' he said, looking injured. 'Especially the part where she could feel the proof of his rampant passion pressing against her — '
'Pig,' she hissed at him, under her breath.
