Mind Games

It all... vanished.

That was it. He had been running alongside Harry, Potter, and James one minute, and the next he was floating in an empty space with an unconscious Potter. Harry and James were nowhere to be found.

"Potter," he screamed, "wake up!"

Potter didn't, of course. His Library-with-a-capital-'L' and, consequently, his mind had been destroyed. This meant that Draco had to find his own Library-with-a-capital-'L', get the Golden Thought Transferring Device Thingy and plug Potter's brain in. Fortunately, he could see the aforementioned Library just ahead.

It was very odd. There was pure, black space all around him except straight ahead, where a large chunk of land with a Library on floated. It looked like some sort of island in a calm, black sea.

He picked up Potter - who was supernaturally light - and continued running toward his Library-with-a-capital-'L'. It felt like moving through syrup, but at least he was moving. If the Dementors destroyed his own Library before he had Potter's re-established...

"Damn," said the Evil Dark Lord. He said it quietly, though. Evil Dark Lords are not supposed to curse. It detracts from their image.

At first, it had appeared the M.P.D.D. (Mental Projecting Dementor Device) had worked, but something had gone... wrong.

Voldemort hated it when things went wrong.

Potter was back. Well, he was still unconscious, but his mind was functioning normally again, which was not supposed to happen.

Damn Potter!

"My lord?"

"What is it? I am slightly busy, if hadn't noticed, Malfoy. Go away."

"Um, Lord?"

"WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!"

"Sorry, Milord. Going away right now, milord." Lucius paused halfway out the door and turned. "Um, milord, I know you said 'go away', but you really should know..."

"Malfoy," hissed the Dark Lord, "when I say 'go away,' I don't mean 'stand there and blither at me! I mean 'go away'! Crucio!"

Lucius screamed for a few minutes, which put Voldemort in a rather better mood.

"Now," he said, as the elder Malfoy lay panting on the floor, "you will go away. What is it you will do, Malfoy?"

"Go away, Master!"

"When will you go away, Malfoy?"

"Right now, Master!"

"Very good, Malfoy."

"Thank you, Master," Lucius yelped, and scurried out.

Apparently, even Evil Dark Lords had off days.

"Professor? Are you all right? Professor! Oh holy Merlin! What happened?"

Snape staggered a few steps before collapsing sideways into a chair. "I-I picked a bad moment to arrive. Apparently, Potter has eluded death once again and put Voldemort in a rather bad mood. Malfoy - Lucius, I mean, not Draco - set fit to antagonise him further. Then I came in, and, well... Why am I telling you this? You're a bleeding student! And a Gryffindor! Twenty points from Gryffindor for letting me ramble!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Professor," she scoffed, "you could be decent for once in your life. You had almost managed it for a moment there."

"Miss Granger," he snarled, "I am not, and have never been, decent. Anything decent I say should be disregarded and marked down as incoherent babble from a man who is in a great deal of pain."

"Oh," she said, "well, then. Would you care for assistance to the Infirmary?"

"I can manage, Miss Granger. Please return to your dorm."

"All right, Professor," she said, but didn't move. He knew that she was waiting until he tried to stand up, collapsed, and was forced to request her help. He refused to humiliate himself, though.

"Now, Miss Granger."

"All right, Professor."

A pause.

"Miss Granger, are you speaking English? The language I am familiar with uses 'now' to mean 'at this instant' or 'immediately'. Not 'whenever you feel like it'."
"I was just waiting to see if you'd be able to walk well enough to get to the Infirmary."

"Miss Granger, did I, at any point, say I was going to the Infirmary?"

"You need to."

"Did I or did I not?"

"No."

"Thank you. Go."

Another pause.

"All right," she said, "I know I'm going to lose a lot of points for Gryffindor, but I refuse to let you sleep in that chair all night. Come on!" With that, she levered him up with one bony shoulder and attempted to support him.

"Miss Granger!"

"Forget your infernal pride for one bleeding instant, Professor," Hermione snarled, "and walk!"

When did he start to let himself be pushed around by studious Gryffindor females?

"MALFOY!"

"Hello, Potter."

"MALFOY!"

"Yes, that's me."

"MAL-FOY!"

"Erm, we have established that 'Malfoy' is my last name."

Potter was panting slightly. "You... you... you aren't an evil cretin whose only purpose in the universe is to annoy me and make any bystanders hate you with great passion?"

Malfoy blinked.

"You aren't," Potter said in utter amazement, "a minor plot device in the great story of the universe who occasionally causes mild trouble for us which results in either me finding out Voldemort's newest nefarious plot or a long speech to one of my friends about how you aren't worthy to lick their boots?"

Malfoy blinked again, and flushed with anger.

"You aren't merely an annoying blond who has a small cult following of drooling females?"

"Well," said Draco now looking slightly amused, "the last bit is true, but other than that - no."

"Unholy god of slightly fuzzy pickles, the world has come to an end!"

"Er," Malfoy said, "are you sure that you didn't get your head bumped? Because I know I come up with some pretty wild curses, but that was really out there. Unholy god of slightly fuzzy pickles?"

"You don't want to know," Potter said solemnly.

"Okay."

"This," The Wonder Boy said dramatically, "is truly horrible. I mean, I can't just go on hating you when I know the reasons why you did all the things I should hate you for, now, can I? Who will be my arch-rival now?"

Draco paused to consider this, then shrugged. "Well, I could ask Blaise. He doesn't have one - an arch-rival, that is. He's a bit too quiet, though. I don't know. Give Snape a diluted shrinking potion."

"Good idea, Malfoy," said James, who had seemingly materialised out of thin air. "And thank you for resurrecting me, by the way."

"No problem," Malfoy said with an uncharacteristically amiable shrug, "saving imaginary fragments of my ex-arch-rival's personality is everyday work."

"I feel honoured. Honestly, Malfoy... Where's Harry?"

"Here! I'm... here. God. Wow. What a rush. I feel like... like... like I'm all-powerful! I have another whole person inside of me! Wow!"

Potter and James stared at him.

"He-ey! Malfoy! You're actually... sort of... okay. I mean, you're smart. And you have a nice sense of humour. And great memories," Harry announced.

Draco blinked at him. "I have many things, but 'great memories' are not among them."

"No," Harry said, "I don't mean good memories, I mean colourful memories. You're a very visual person, Malfoy."

A short pause, then: "Thank you, other-Potter-person, for that delightful input. I feel oh-so-much better. I think I shall go outside and be visual by myself."

"I think you upset him, Harry."

"Shut up," said Harry, "I'm supposed to be the observant one."

Potter bit his lip before following his ex-rival.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Is there any reason you have developed a sudden interest in wizards with overly oily hair, painfully annoying skull tattoos, and mean dispositions who insult you constantly?"

"Well, not really," she said, "other than they're fascinating. Their potion-making rituals are particularly interesting. And their method of deducting the maximum amount of points from innocent, frightened, and rather bewildered young Gryffindors."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Would you go out and ask that overgrown lug if the Sphinx has arrived yet?"

"Certainly, Professor," she chirped, and scurried out.

"Malfoy?"

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

"Potter?"

"Malfoy!"

"Potter!"

A short, embarrassed pause.

"Err... I forgot what I was going to say."

"And I forgot what miraculously complex and painful insult I was going to deliver. I suppose we're even." Draco snapped, and fidgeted a bit, looking very uncomfortable. "Potter," he repeated.

"Malfoy. I think we've gone through this before. Er. This is weird, understanding you." Potter hung is head, blushing apologetically.

"I know. If I could remedy the situation, believe me, I would. I don't like people knowing me."

"Why not?"

Draco glared at him. "Because," he said, "then they get annoying. Potter, you don't have to pull the demented-Muggle-psychiatrist thing. You know everything about me, remember? You already know why I don't like people to understand me."

"Because," Potter said slowly, "then they would know your weaknesses, and you hate being weak."

"Brilliant deduction!"

"Erm... and... your weaknesses are...?"

"You know everything about me, Potter! How many times must I repeat myself?"

"I know that," Potter snapped, frustrated, "but I can't seem to remember."

"Maybe I don't have any? I don't know! You've got a copy of my mind! There's nothing I could tell you that you don't already know! And vice versa!"

"Err... Are you upset, Malfoy?"

"NO!" Malfoy screamed, "I'm perfectly fine with my worst enemy knowing everything about me! I'm just peachy with the minions of the bastard my father grovels before nearly killing both of us! I love being trapped in aforementioned worst enemy's mind! Everything is JUST FINE!"

"Er," said Potter.

"Hey, Potter," Malfoy said, turning abruptly so that they were face-to-face again, "I hate you. I hate you-I hate you-I hate you-I hate you. I have never met a boy I hated more than you. I hated you from the moment the hat screamed 'GRYFFINDOR'! I taunted your friends to get at you! I insulted people I didn't even know just to annoy you! Everything I've done since I was eleven was to spite you! And now I find out that - surprise! - you're a good person! You're nice! You're smart! You have an okay sense of humour! You're the kind of guy I could've been best friends with!

"And all the misery you've put me through, all the nights I spent awake just sitting there and loathing you... are wasted! Because of a few seconds under a non-existent thought transferring device thing! And I still hate you-hate you-hate you, but I don't! I can't! I can't hate you, Potter! I can't hate you!

"It's your fault! If-if... If you hadn't gone and blown up that potion in Snape's class... If you hadn't taken your sweater off... If you'd come in a bit earlier... I could've gone on hating you and everything would be just fine!"

Tears were running down his face freely, though he didn't seem to notice. His lips were pressed together in a thin, pink slash. It had start raining (dramatic effect, most likely brought on by Draco's sulky mood) a bit ago, and Malfoy's hair hung in silver rattails. His skin seemed superpale through the odd light, seemingly translucent.

Potter didn't know what to say, really. He was equally drenched and rather frightened at Malfoy's outburst. He truly, honestly didn't know what to do.

So he reached over and hugged the smaller boy.

"It's okay, Malfoy," Potter said gently, "it's okay... I... know that everything is... too much... and..."

Draco shoved him away, eyes wide. "Get off me, Potter! Don't touch me, damn you! Who asked you to come near me? Didn't you hear anything I just said? I hate you!"

"NO-YOU-DON'T!" Potter screamed back, finally losing any patience left. There are only so many 'I hate you' declarations one person can take. "Damn you Malfoy, make sense! I'm the one bloody person who understands you and you push me away - literally!"

"Fuck off!"

"NO!"

"YES!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP AND LISTEN, DAMMIT!" Potter reached over and smothered Malfoy in an embrace that was more of a straightjacket than a hug. "I don't want to hurt you. The only one I want to hurt is Voldemort, and he deserves it a hundred times over! You don't! You may be a bloody bastard sometimes, but you're not a bad person! I don't hate you. I don't want to hurt you. Okay?"

Draco relaxed slightly, resting his forehead against Potter's chest as if the taller boy were a wall, rather than a person. "Okay," he said, "okay. Okay. This doesn't mean I have to like you, but... okay. I guess I sort of don't hate you either. I'm... I'm... I didn't mean what I said before. I guess I was a little upset over you knowing... everything about me..."

Potter was suddenly aware that he was hugging Draco Malfoy. Needless to say, he let go rather quickly, stepping back. He was dimly aware that he was probably blushing. Guys do not hug other guys. They give manly pat-on-the-backs or one armed squeezes, but not a full hug. And not to Malfoy.

He felt a bit better when he saw that Malfoy's pale cheeks were tinged red, though. At least he didn't have to be embarrassed all alone. Humiliation is a dish best shared, after all. This seemed a very Slytherin thought to Potter, but as he had a bit of The Crown Prince of Slytherin in him now, that could be excused. Couldn't it?

"Potter? Are you alive, or have you gone into a coma-within-a-coma, now?"

"Oh... Oh... sorry. I mean, I'm still here. Just a bit, you know, off... I've absorbed my adversary's brain, fought with him, made a truce with him, and, er, hugged him, in barely a quarter of an hour, after all. I was just a bit... overwhelmed."

Draco looked cross. "Oh, you have, have you? Well, I'm not going off to mental who-knows-where and all of that happened to me, as well."

"Oh, did it? I really didn't notice. Honestly, Malfoy... Malfoy? Malfoy?"

The Hogwarts staff was once more gathered around a non-human intelligent creature and two comatose teenage males. It seemed to be a regular occurrence, nowadays.

The Sphinx gave them all a rather cross look, clearly showing that she was here only because she had nothing better to do and that she regarded everything, including the world, with disdain. Slowly, regally, she raised on enormous paw and touched it to the young Malfoy's back.

The air between the two shimmered, quavered, and settled down once more as a ghost-like form rose up out of Draco's body. It brushed itself off (ghost-dust?) and glared at everyone for a few seconds before turning back to the Sphinx. "Okay," it said, "why am I suddenly back at Hogwarts in a weird ghost-like form by a huge Sphinx?"

The Sphinx sniffed, and jerked her head at the assembled crowd.

"What, don't you talk?"

The Sphinx looked cross. (Which meant that her expression did not change. Sphinxes always look cross. Or constipated. One of the two.)

"She can't talk, Mr. Malfoy, unless she's delivering a riddle. We made her promise not to, so she must remain silent. But we have a few questions for you. Care to answer them?"

Draco turned. "Oh, hello Professor Snape! What... why is Granger hiding behind you?"

"It's a long story," Snape said firmly.

"Oh. Well, then, what are the questions?"

Snape dug into one of his pockets, came up empty, and went fishing in another. After several more pocket excavations, he finally found a small, crumpled-up piece of paper. He unfolded quickly and squinted as he tried to make out the smudged handwriting. "Err... Damn. You usually have such legible handwriting, Miss Granger."

"I was in a hurry," she said primly, and snatched the paper away from him. "Ahem. Are you and Harry... doing well? I mean, no problems beside the obvious?"

"Do you know about the Dementors trying to kill us a bit ago?"

"Yes."

"Well then," Draco shrugged, "no."

"Um... Do you have any idea how to get back to normal? Or have us get you back to normal?"

"He's supposed to discover himself, or some such symbolic mush. There are these two other people... They look like Potter, but they have different personalities." Draco continued to explain Harry and James, as the audience grew steadily more confused.

"Er," said Hermione when he had finished, "okay. Sort of Freudian. You know, this never happens in the Muggle world? I mean, sometimes a person goes into a coma, but they never have to battle freaky replicas of themselves."

Snape glared at her.

"Oh, er, sorry, Professor. Continuing: Did you use your Veela powers in an attempt to get Harry to wake up?"

"Yes, Granger. And then I was sucked into his mental-thingy and landed in a tree outside a window where his James-self was apparently strip-teasing for a large group of raging females," Malfoy sneered disdainfully.

"This is no time for jokes, Malfoy!"

"Granger," he said, "I'm not joking. I'm serious. Potter's got a twisted mind."

Hermione stared at him for a bit, sputtered incoherently, sighed, and moved her thumb down the list. "Um, okay... How long do you think it's going to take to get back?"

"Absolutely, positively no idea. It all depends on Potter. If he finds the secret hidden aspects of his soul-thing, then it won't take any time at all. If, however, he plays his usual hero role, it might take a while. He's very meticulous in his hero mode, as I'm sure you know."

"Okay. Professor Snape, is there anything..." she never got to finish. Agitated, the Sphinx had removed her paw from Draco's body and the boy's spirit form had disappeared. Hermione cursed creatively.

"...foy! Malfoy! Wake up! Malfoy!"

"Potter?"

"Malfoy! Are you okay? You just passed out... I'm sorry if I upset you - I didn't mean to, really. I'm sorry. Are you all right? You scared me... I was bickering with you one second and the next... boom! Are you sure you're all right? I'm really sorry..."

"Potter," Draco snapped, "I am all right, and you have nothing to be sorry for save your own existence. Now, please, get off of me."

Potter scrambled to his feet hastily. "Oh, er, sorry. Sorry, I mean not sorry. I mean... never mind. What happened?"
Malfoy sighed. "Apparently, the Professors were able to summon an insubstantial form of myself long enough to answer a few questions or something like that. It involved a Sphinx, Granger, and Professor Snape, anyway. I'm not entirely sure. The Sphinx got miffed and walked off, so I'm back."

Potter stared at him, blinked, and scrunched his nose. "Right," he said, "right. I feel so much better knowing that. Do they know how to get me back to the real world?"

"No, that was one of the questions they asked me, too. I think its hopeless - you're going to have to do this all by yourself, Potter."

Potter sighed.

"There's nothing to do, Malfoy. Which is exactly the point. I mean, I know myself pretty well, considering. Don't you think?"

"I don't," said James, seemingly popping out of nowhere, "I think you're in denial."

"Well, yes, and I probably am. The trouble about being in denial, though, is that I don't know or refuse to know whatever I'm in denial about!" Potter complained.

"What did he say?" said Harry, blinking.

Draco shrugged, and thought about this for a bit. "I think it was something along the lines of, 'just bloody tell me what I'm in denial about already because I don't know,' don't you think?"

James nodded. "Yeah, that's what I made of it. But anyway, Potter, I can't tell you. That's the whole point of this soul-searchy thing. You've got to find out for yourself."

"Um..."

"You are myself," Potter offered hopefully.

"Er... Potter? James? Harry-person?"

James sighed. "Okay," he said, "I'll give you a hint. What is the most disgusting thing you can think of doing?"

"Hey, look..."

Potter thought for a moment, and then shuddered. "Uuuuuuuugh. I'm not even going to answer that. You're disgusting."

Draco seemed to be incredibly agitated. "Hello? Is there any point to this? I mean, there are half a million utterly disgusting things I can think of right now that has nothing to do with whatever you're trying to hint at! If Potter secretly wants to worship Celeste Warbeck, let him find out for himself. AND STOP IGNORING ME!"

"Eww," said Potter, wrinkling his nose, "I hate Celeste Warbeck."

"Even my never-failing optimism is suffering. We're no closer to getting him out of that coma than we were when we started! And Malfoy hardly insulted Harry at all! And I haven't called you a greasy slime ball in weeks! We're all being stretched to the breaking point, I tell you."

Snape nodded his assent and sipped at a positively deadly looking potion.

"And," continued Hermione, slipping neatly into the Teenage Angst Monthly Emotion Dump, "I haven't ever been kissed, and I'm nearly seventeen now. Not even with Viktor, and I honestly thought he would. Turns out he just needed someone who wasn't trying to get him to sign an autograph with a banana or on a banana or whatever. Honestly!"

Snape made the appropriate sympathetic noises that one can only make when confronted with a distressed teenage girl.

"And," she barrelled on, mercilessly, "Ron is being an idiot, which is normal, of course, but worse than normal as Harry's not here to mellow him out. Honestly, I think he's getting a head start on becoming an alcoholic... The number of times I've found him retching in the mornings, you'd think he was pregnant! And he's distressing Ginny... I don't know what I'll do with the girl... Honestly, she's so distressed over the whole Harry thing... And she doesn't even have a crush on him anymore! She's currently mooning over some pretty-looking Ravenclaw guy in glasses with rather nice brown hair, though I think he's a bit short, but that's just me."

"Miss Weasley is not very tall," Snape managed to comment before the sheer talkativeness overwhelmed him.

"Well, yes, true, I suppose. I guess I am rather tall, aren't I, compared to most girls? And everyone has different tastes. But that's not the point, anyway. The point is that I don't know what to do about Harry!"

Snape marvelled that after that the previous long and involved speech that had covered most of her life over the past month actually had all been relative to Harry Potter, The Boy Who Slept.

Hermione calmed down a bit, mostly by taking deep, full breaths and counting backwards and forwards to one hundred. "You must thing me a terrible fool," she said at last, "going on like that. I really am sorry. I only do it once in a while, and you were just... you know, there."

Not entirely sure if it was safe to proceed normally, Snape nodded.

"I really am much more sensible, usually..." she began, but was cut off.

"I am quite aware of your... sensibility, Miss Granger. You needn't prove yourself to me. Although I must confess listening to the dilemmas of the average teenage girl is not an everyday occurrence for me, I don't think any less - or more - of you."
He thinks I'm average, Hermione thought dismally.

"Not that I think you're average, of course."

A very small, bouncy, energetic, and, above all, repressed part of Hermione jumped up and cheered.

"You are, quite possibly, the only student excluding Mister Malfoy himself that I find the least bit interesting."

The small, bouncy part did cartwheels.

"I even find myself enjoying your company, which, believe me, is not something that happens regularly."

The small, bouncy part began to sing a sappy, 'rah, rah, go get em girl' type of song.

"Why, erm, thank you, Professor. I honestly don't know what to say. Thank you. A lot. I think."

"Miss Granger," inquired Snape, curious, "why are you blushing?"

Hermione slapped her hands to her face and, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, squeaked out, "I am not blushing!"

Snape blinked and raised an eyebrow.

"Is it... bigger than a bread box?"

"We're talking about an idea here, not an object, Potter."

"Oh, come on, James! Work with me! Pick something that represents the idea and go from there."

James thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, yes."

Malfoy and Harry were playing Go Fish in the corner. Malfoy losing spectacularly.

"Um... More than one colour?"

"Uh-huh."

"Is it bigger than me?"

"Taller or wider?"

"Taller, I mean."

"No."

"Wider?"

James considered. "Well, neither part of it is, but viewed as a whole, yes."

Draco had finally convinced Harry to play Poker instead, and they had conjured up chips.

"Noisy?"

James looked amused. "Oh, definitely."

"Would it annoy me?"

"For a bit, then I imagine you'd get used to it."

"Would it annoy Malfoy?"

James broke into hysteric giggles. "We-ell," he said at last, "it might. But, if I'm right, I think he might appreciate it."

Potter glanced over just in time to notice that Harry was trying to trick Malfoy into a game of strip poker. (Harry had just lost five games in a row, and was understandably cross.)

"Hey, Harry! Don't even think about it! I don't need to see myself naked! Only start a game of strip poker with a pretty girl when you know you can win! Good god, man!" James screamed when Potter brought it to his attention.

"Um, eww. So... Does it smell nice?"

"Master?"

"Yes, Lucius?"

"Um... The thing I was going to tell you earlier? It was that my son is comatose along with Potter. We just got the information from one of the Slytherin correspondents."

Voldemort stood up very, very quickly. "WHAT?"

Lucius knew enough that he didn't say, 'I tried to tell you...' but tried to look as subservient and pitiful as he could instead. This seemed to work.

"Is this... related to the Potter Boy's unconsciousness?"

"Probably, master... From what I understand, Potter got lost in the forest and slipped into some sort of coma... a school wide search... my son found him... later found together, asleep..."

Voldemort cursed creatively. "Damn," he said, "unless we eliminate both of them, I don't think the Dementors can touch Potter when your son is there. And, though the simple solution would be to kill your son as well and have you wife bear another, I think there may be a more satisfactory way of securing Potter's death. However... if the other options are not practical, I will not hesitate to your son."

Lucius hesitated for a moment - Draco was a rather nice boy, after all - but eventually nodded. "Of course, Master."

"Very good. Now, go do whatever you minions do."

"Right away, Master."

"So," said Draco.

"So?" Inquired Potter.

"So-o-o..." James drawled, swinging his legs idly from atop a bookcase.

"So!" Harry affirmed.

Malfoy sighed and flopped back against a couch that materialised behind him just in time. "I'm bored."

"So am I, and I've run out of questions to ask Jamesy over there. And no closer to whatever I'm in denial about."

Malfoy considered this. "Perhaps," he said at last, "you are in denial about your sanity.

Potter considered this. "Let's see... If I were to put my sanity into a solid object, it would be me conversing with Ron and Hermione-"

"That is not sane," Draco interjected.

"-so let's see if it fits the requirements. Bigger than a bread box, yes... More than one colour, yes... Since it was implied that it has two parts, and I restrict it to just me talking to Hermione, it isn't taller than me, and she's not any wider... Not having my sanity would annoy me for a bit, but I imagine I'd get used to it, yes... It might annoy you or it might please you immensely, depending on my degree of insanity, yes... I think we might be getting somewhere, here... Oh, that's right, and it's also noisy... According to James, only part of that smells nice... I'd imagine that would be Hermione... and part of it is an 'acquired taste'. I think that would be me. Hah-hah, James. Very funny. So that was nine... Then we had... what?"

"Is it alive," Harry volunteered, looking up from a book that catalogued Draco's emotions and such during his Second Year.

"Right. And that was a 'yes', which is still right..."

"Ah, hell, Potter, it'll probably all fit, but you're not in denial about your sanity, all right?" James exploded at last, frustrated.

"Ah," Potter said, in the tone of a Gryffindor who is actually trying to be clever, "that's what you want me to think. But I know it is. It all checks. I'm insane! I'm insane! Let me out of here, already!"

Draco sighed. "You are insane, Potter, but I'll go along with James in that you're not in denial about it. Back to the drawing board, and be a little quieter about it."

Potter sighed. "This is not going well. I can't figure it out, and Hermione's consorting with Snape."

"Not that bad of a person to consort with, Potter."

"Not for you, but she's a Gryffindor Muggleborn! He's going to poison her sushi!"

Draco blinked. "Sushi?"

Potter shrugged. "She likes sushi a lot. Go figure."

Malfoy shook his head. "Mudbloods. Honestly."

Potter opened his mouth to protest the insult, but before he could get any more than "Don-" out, a pillow flew through the air and clipped his ear."

"Shut up! I'm trying to read over here!" Harry snapped.

Potter settled back to sulk.

"Minerva! Libra! Get over here - you've got to see this!" Sprout was positively bouncing.

Libra Sinistra looked up from grading papers. "What is it, Calyx?"

"Remember when we had that long argument over Muggle-versus-Wizarding soap operas?"

McGonagall tried desperately to look as invisible as possible. She remembered, despite all efforts to the contrary. Her eardrums, not to mention the staff room, had never been the same since.

Even Sinistra looked wary. "Well, yes... I hardly think anyone will forget."

"Well," Sprout announced, "I've found something better still - come look."
Sinistra drifted to her feet, (She drifted everywhere. Honestly, the woman was far too graceful to be human.) looking intrigued. "What is it?"

"Never mind, you'll see - come on, already!"

McGonagall reluctantly followed - not out of interest or loyalty, but survival instinct. There had been a long stream of Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers who had disagreed with one of these two formidable women and... mysteriously vanished, thus inspiring the belief the job was cursed. (This had been before the stream of evil, unlucky, or simply annoying Professors who first appeared the year Harry Potter joined the student body.)

Calyx lead the way through the passageways and up to a very familiar gargoyle statues. Hardly pausing, she barked out, "Lifesavers!" and bolted through. Internally shrugging, McGonagall followed.

They continued their game of miniature tag through several more adjoining rooms until they came to the last, which was bare of anything but what appeared to be a Muggle projector and screen.

"Watch this!" Sprout beamed, and flipped a switch on the wall. The projector made a few protesting noises, before the picture bloomed across the screen.

McGonagall, Sinistra, and Sprout watched in unfeigned awe.

Libra rubbed her eyes sleepily after it finished. "My," she said at last, "so that's how he knows everything."

"Isn't it wonderful?!" Sprout queried, eyes shining.

"It's certainly more real than any other soap opera..."

"I think I need to have a talk with Severus," McGonagall said faintly, after gathering herself together.

Libra and Calyx exchanged a brief glance before grabbing the older woman's arms and performing a perfectly executed stunning spell.

"They were all so cute..." Calyx said quietly, looking at her shoes.

Libra nodded. "Yes, and they all need each other so badly... We wouldn't be doing any harm, whereas she could stop the greatest Romance this country has ever seen!"

"Well... I wouldn't say greatest, but it certainly is cute."

"Very cute."

The both glanced at the unconscious transfiguration professor before Libra pointed her wand and whispered a soft, "Obliviate."

Hermione fidgeted under the hard, though slightly tipsy, gaze of her redheaded best friend.

"The way you've been behaving lately - ridiculous! I can't believe you, Hermione, going around with Snape as if you were some feminine version of Malfoy," Ron scolded.

She sniffed contemptuously. "'Feminine version of Malfoy' is redundant, first of all." Ron looked blank. For some reason, she felt obscurely angry at him. Snape would have understood the joke. Hell, Harry would have. "Second of all," she continued, pushing this aside, "you're hardly one to talk. Half the time you're drunk, the other half you're regurgitating the aforementioned drink all over the floor."

"At least I don't go around sleeping with the teachers for grades!"

She slapped him. "How... dare... you..." her voice came out in a low hiss. Her back had gone ramrod straight. "Besides, how would you know? Lately, you've been waking up in unfamiliar surroundings nine days out of ten! And I am only working for Professor Snape out of concern for Harry!"

"Concern for Harry my arse!"

[insert second slap HERE]

"You," Hermione hissed, "need to straighten your life out and stop moping. He will come back, you know. It's not the end of the world. In the meantime, stop making yourself - and everyone around you - miserable! Be of some use for once!" She ended screaming and, tears budding at the corners of her eyes, dashed out through the portrait hole.

Ron launched into a long stream of obscenities that eventually trailed off when they became too silly for even his inebriated state.

"Miss Granger?"

The girl's eyes were red and swollen from crying, and it looked as if she had bitten right through her lip at one point.

"P-p-professor, I'm sorry... I didn't know where else to go... The library is so crowded lately, and you never have company..." She trailed off, and looked desperately around for a tissue. Exasperated, Snape fished a self-cleaning handkerchief out of one of his many pockets and handed it to her.

"Weasley, I suppose?" he queried.

She nodded glumly, dabbing fruitlessly at her eyes.

"Never liked the boy," Snape declared.

Hermione gave a weak chuckle. "Honestly, Professor," she said, "you've never liked anybody. Ron's no exception."

"Oh," the Potions Master said offhandedly, "you're all right, I suppose, for a student."

Hermione blushed deeply. I am not developing a crush on a teacher, I am not developing a crush on a teacher, I am NOT developing a crush on a teacher... (his hair actually looks nice today) Oh bloody hell, I am developing a crush on a teacher. This is not a good thing.

He seemed to notice her regarding him strangely, because he instantly shifted back into his I-Am-Evil-Here-Me-Roar! mode and glared ferociously down at her. "Now, if you will excuse me, Miss Granger, I have papers to grade."

She scampered out.