Ron was chewing the side of his lip thoughtfully. “Remind me again how this is going to work,” he said.
Hermione looked vexed. “We're gone over this…”
“It's, just, won't it be surrounded by guards and things?”
“The cup? No more than any of the other objects in the museum.
Remember, they don't know what it is — it's just a historical curiosity to them, not part of an immensely powerful magical equation.”
“Are you sure?” Ron said. “I mean, maybe they just don't want to make it clear to everyone else that they do know how powerful it is…maybe they're just trying not to attract any attention to it.”
Hermione blinked, and for a moment looked surprised — Harry realized that this had honestly not occurred to her. “No,” she said slowly, and then more swiftly, “No, because there's no reason then that they'd have to put it on display, they could just hide it away somewhere. It's only by chance that we even managed to suss it out. If Draco hadn't had the dreams he's had, if it hadn't connected back up to Nicholas Flamel, I'd never have twigged that the cup in the museum was one of the Four Worthy Objects.”
“Might be one of the Four Worthy Objects,” Ron corrected, dropping his voice.
Hermione nodded. “I know, but better safe than sorry.”
“Ah,” said Ron, nodding. “This must be some newfangled usage of the word 'safe' that I hadn't previously been aware of.”
Harry laughed. “I thought you were missing all our adventures,” he said.
“If robbing a museum isn't an adventure, I don't know what is.”
Ron flushed, then grinned crookedly. “You have a point,” he replied, then glanced at his watch. “Herm, we're meant to be down in Flitwick's office going over the student list for the trip right now…”
“Oh. Right.” Hermione got to her feet, stifling another yawn, smiled at Harry, and picked up her books and cloak. “See you at supper then?” she said.
He got to his feet, and nodded. “Have fun being Head Boy and Head Girl.”
Hermione made a face. “Don't knock it…we wouldn't have a museum trip otherwise.”
Ron tapped his watch. “Hermione…”
She picked up the cup, put it in her bag, and kissed Harry's cheek. “See you later — oh, and Draco, remember what we talked about.” And with that, she left with Ron, both of them chattering animatedly.
Harry looked down at Draco. “'Remember what we talked about'?”
Draco, who had his long legs stretched out on top of the table, shrugged.
“We were just trying to think of different ways to create a diversion at the museum tomorrow.”
“Come up with anything?”
“Few things. Probably better if you're surprised though.”
Harry, accepting this, threw himself down in the chair next to Draco. “I'm flipping exhausted,” he said. “I don't know about you.”
“Well, six midnight meetings and intensive robbery-planning will do that to you. Fortunately, I manage to maintain my radiant glow without sleep.”
“Yes, fascinating how you do that,” said Harry, reaching for a thermos of pumpkin juice that Hermione had left at the table. “So, Rhysenn not bothering you in the middle of the night any more?”
Draco gave him a shrewd look. “I haven't seen her,” he said. “Have you?”
Harry shook his head, alarmed. “No.”
“I suspect she can't come into the castle,” Draco said. “I think you're safe.”
Harry unscrewed the thermos cap thoughtfully. “What do you think she wants, anyway?”
Draco shrugged. “Ultimately that's anyone's guess. Other than wanting in your pants, apparently.”
“Glargh.” Harry moaned. “Don't say that.”
“I'm just offended she doesn't want in my pants.”
“Maybe she does,” Harry suggested placatingly.
“I don't think she's ever really tried it on with me…not like she did with you.” Draco paused thoughtfully. “Lucky me, I suppose.”
“She does have quite an…effect,” Harry said, feeling himself blush.
“Must be six hundred years of pent-up frustration,” Draco said.
Harry choked, and spit pumpkin juice out all over the open book in front of him. “Six hundred years,” he said, and goggled. “She's that old?”
“Remarkably well-preserved, isn't she?” Draco remarked. “And don't spit on that book — it's antique.”
“So is she,” said Harry. He bit his lip. “Not that it helps much…” He looked up at Draco with wide eyes. “What is she, Malfoy?”
“I think,” Draco said slowly, “she's some kind of demon. Or something.
She seems to have the ability to, ah…well…what exactly does it seem like to you?”
Harry felt himself turn bright Gryffindor red. “I think she's some kind of, um, sex demon,” he said.
Draco looked as if he were trying very, very hard not to laugh. “Well, it could be worse,” he said. “She could
