Colin Creevey was already regretting choosing that particular shortcut to the Great Hall. He knew he'd been anxious to get to dinner, because it was already halfway over, he was really hoping that there was still some of the glorious, glorious chicken served tonight left, and he also knew for a fact that Ron Weasley was feeling particularly ravenous that evening and that said chicken was one of his best-loved Hogwarts dishes.

He was wondering how much time he had left before all of it was finished when he felt his robes being grabbed and he was pushed against one side of the corridor.

Handsome, if slightly pointy, features contorted in a furious expression and Colin felt his eyes widen.

“When you go in there,” hissed Malfoy, “tell Weasley she has it coming.” He vaguely felt himself being let down and he fell into a crumpled heap, watching Malfoy stomp off, fuming, his robes splattered in rich gravy.

Colin decided that next time, he definitely wasn't going to take this shortcut to the Great Hall.

A day later

“You! Zabini!”

Blaise made the mistake of turning around. “What, Wea–”

“Petrificus totalus!”

Crap.

“How dare he!” a shrill voice growled. The girl approaching him tapped her wand rather angrily on her head.

Blaise honestly didn't see what the fuss was all about– Oh. Oh.

Malfoy, you smart arse of a prick.

And then, Ironic she used that particular spell.

Apparently, petrified though he was, she could still discern his amusement. “Oh, yes, laugh at the worm-haired girl, will you?” she snapped. Never mind that he was currently too much of a statue to be able to laugh. “See how funny it is when he turns half the hair covering your head into legless, wriggling things that stays attached to your scalp–”

There had been that one time, yes.

“–this goes beyond gravy–”

Gravy?

“–so tell him that the next time I see him, he had better watch his step, because I am paying him back if it's the last thing I do!” She stuck her nose in the air and huffed her way out of the corridor, not bothering to release him.

So when his house mate Draco Malfoy found him during his prefect rounds and took the spell off, Blaise generously rewarded him with his knuckle (“Ow – the hell, Zabini, have you gone mental?”) and then quite cheerfully relayed what he had been told to the boy who was still nursing his jaw.

A week later

Professor Sprout tutted as she led Hermione down the stairs and around the corner. “He should be ashamed – really, what kind of prefect gets a detention? To think Albus made him one, he must've been – oh, careful, Miss Granger, that's a trick step–”

Hermione dutifully half-skipped, half-jumped over it.

“All right, Miss Granger, that's the one you'll be overseeing, the door on the left. Check both essays, make sure they write at least eight inches of parchment. When you're done, just see to it that they both return to their dormitories, and then you may leave.” Professor Sprout gave her a matronly smile. “Good evening, Miss Granger.”

“Good evening, Professor.”

The professor nodded at her in farewell and went on her way, and Hermione thought of how she disliked supervising detentions. Opening the classroom door, she was greeted by wide, pleading brown eyes and an icy glare.

She barely had time to mutter a surprised “oh” when she was quite literally bombarded with words from one Ginevra Weasley and a Draco Malfoy.

“Hermione, you can't leave me in detention with him of all people–”

“I commend your supreme lack of observation skills, Weasley, she's clearly here only for a visit and not because she hasn't got supervising duty–”

“Please, Hermione, I'll gladly serve detention with Filch at any other time–”

“What a noble person, eh, Granger? Abandoning her friend in the clutches of her enemy–”

“Shut up, Malfoy, I know that my being in your presence is just as bad as your being in my presence–”

“'Just as bad'? You flatter yourself too much, Weasley. Why you would put yourself in the same category as me is simply mind-boggling.”

Ginny snorted. “Right, because you're so much better, is that it?”

“Glad it's finally gotten through that thick skull of yours–”

Hermione loudly cleared her throat, immediately halting the verbal exchange, and both of them looked at her. “All right, you two. Quills in hand, please, and an essay on–” she discreetly checked the blackboard, and nearly lost herself to a half-horrified, half-amused giggle, “–why one must not steal a fellow student's, er, un... knick– um...”

“Underwear,” Ginny supplied with a slight eye roll, somehow still managing to look defiant.

Hermione's cheeks coloured a little, and her voice rose half an octave. “Right! Of course. That and not... distributing it around.” A quick glance at her watch. “You may begin now, and I will alert you when it is five minutes to the end of this session.” Wishing she wasn't so flustered, she plopped down onto a nearby chair and promptly took out a copy of Efficiency in Wand Movement: All You Need To Know About Swishes and Flicks.

A minute into the third chapter – “How strong are your wrists?” one sub-heading read – had passed before a snickering Malfoy read aloud as he wrote, “One also... should not steal... another's.... underthings... as one's... mental health... may be forever... scarred upon... sight of... a pair... of second-hand... cotton... granny... knickers.”

Ginny's quill snapped clean in two. “I do not wear granny knickers.”

Hermione had to fight the urge to test the wrist strength exercises against her forehead. Fifteen more minutes, she thought, and fifteen minutes later, she tried not to look too suspicious when Malfoy bumped into Ginny rather conspicuously.

A month later

“Stop following me around!”

What's this? Lavender's eyes went wide in excitement. She scrambled – quietly, of course – to hide herself behind the nearest wall. Parvati, I'll get that skirt of yours if it's the last thing I'll do.

“I would if you would just listen to me–”

“What is there to listen, Draco?”

Oh my. Draco Malfoy?

“Ginny?” she mouthed in disbelief, and tried to get a view while making sure she wasn't seen. When she peeked out from her hiding spot, she noticed that Ginny's arm was gripped tightly by another. Blast, any further and they'll know I'm here.

“Don't you understand the situation, Ginny?” came the reply. “If they found out I had any kind of thought other than that to serve the Dark Lord–”

Ginny stopped walking and looked at him. “What, they'll kill you?”

The arm dropped. “They'll kill you.”

The silence that ensued made even Lavender uncomfortable. She fidgeted, looked down for a minute, but peeked out again when she heard Ginny whisper.

“But I thought–” From where she was currently spying, Ginny looked faint. “I thought no one knew–”

Lavender's eyes widened even further. A forbidden relationship? This is getting better every second.

“Well, they know now, don't they?” Malfoy said, sounding tense. “We tried our best, but what are two students against a group of Death Eaters?”

Ginny bit her lip. “We could go to Dumbledore. He'd give you sanctuary.”

“In exchange for what, Ginny?” he asked quietly. “I'm not going to be passed over from one tyrant to another like some damned Quaffle.”

“Draco–” Shocked and entranced, Lavender watched as she reached out to touch Malfoy's cheek.

He flinched away. “I'm sorry, Ginny.” He looked up at her, and Lavender wished yet again that she could see his face, because she just bet it was really intense – and then whatever she had been thinking was cut off when Malfoy grabbed Ginny's head and kissed her hard. “I won't see you tomorrow.” He let go of her and strode off, turning his back on Ginny, and for the first time Lavender could see that he was holding a determined expression.

That bastard, she thought, and then when she looked back at Ginny, You poor thing.

The poor girl had stared at Malfoy's back, longing colouring her expression, and when he was out of her sight she walked off in direction to the Gryffindor common room, looking more furious than Lavender had ever seen her, rubbing her sleeves at her eyes vigorously.

Deeming it safe, Lavender stood up, stretched her legs and dusted off her robes. She was about to follow Ginny and tell Parvati when someone said from behind her, “Brown.”

The last thing she remembered before her mind completely blanked was looking into a pair of hard and unforgiving silver eyes, and vaguely hearing the soft-spoken Obliviate.

When Lavender returned to the common room the next day, feeling rather stupid, Parvati pulled her aside, demanding where she was, and proceeded to tell her how the school was abuzz all morning with the news of Draco Malfoy's disappearance.

A year later

The students were given instructions, and after making sure all knew what was to be done McGonagall left the common room, wand at the ready. The whispering grew to a near-deafening level of panic, and while the prefects were busy trying to calm the mass down enough to lead them to safety, Ariadne noticed that a small group of students had broken off from the main group and appeared to be listening intently to one Neville Longbottom. She approached them, glancing back to make sure no one had followed her.

“–and until Harry comes back, it's up to us to hold the fort,” said Neville, sounding serious. “The teachers are going to need all the help they can get.”

And then they climbed out of the portrait, but Ariadne saw that they were going straight to the would-be battlefront, and found herself blurting out, “Hey! Um, Neville!”

About to exit, he looked at her, surprised. “Blackwood?”

She fingered her wand in her pocket. “Can I... come with you?”

Neville studied her. “How good are you with spells?”

Ariadne, for some reason, felt defensive. “I can make a good Protego–”

He nodded. “Be careful, think on your feet,” he said, and they exited together, running to where the battle had already begun. As told, Ariadne took a defending position, shielding other students, and was doing a good job of it until someone in front and to her left cried, “Draco!”

Startled, Ariadne shot a glance, and saw that Malfoy of all people had just pulled Ginny Weasley away from a green spurt of light. He shot a Stunning spell in the direction from where the Killing Curse had flown from. “Dammit, Weasley, don't you know how to keep yourself sa– mmph!”

She knew she hadn't been the only one to stare at the smallest Weasley's stunt – she just snogged him! – but they were all jolted back to the battle when Neville, frustrated, said, “Get yourself a room if you like, but can we please draw attention to the fact that we are in battle?”

Now bearing a gigantic smirk, Malfoy drawled, “I know I'm irresistible–” he muttered Tarantallegra and a cry of dismay soon followed from where the jinx had been directed, “but really, you should know I don't do public displays of affection.”

Ginny snorted and smiled as her Expelliarmus hit the target, now holding two wands. “But everyone knows that my kisses are worth whatever personal rule you're breaking right now.”

“Everyone?” Malfoy cast a shield in front of him and dodged a ricocheting blue light. “Have you been going around kissing everyone, Ginny?” He meant it playfully, but even Ariadne could see that it was tinged by jealousy.

“Oh, Malfoy, you're unbelievable, you know that,” Ginny exclaimed as she put up another shield and dragged him down for another mouth-to-mouth.

Ariadne remembered where she was and shouted, “Protego!” just in time to save a brown-haired girl from accidentally walking into a suspicious-looking mist.

Present time

“Oh, Ron,” sighed Hermione, “Let it go.”

Ron huffed. “It's unthinkable!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands and nearly hitting a passing waiter. “The man makes our lives hell for five years and she marries him? I mean, what kind of twisted logic is that?”

Harry tried not to point out the fact that they had actually provoked him half of those times.

Hermione looked at him tiredly. “Ron, we are attending your sister's wedding. There is a wonderful appetizer in front of you on a plate, which I'm sure your mother cooked to be enjoyed.”

Ron glared at her for bringing his mother into the conversation.

“You've been awfully... complacent about all this, Hermione,” Ron began suspiciously. “Even after Ginny told us he'd proposed before bringing him over... Did she tell you about this?”

“No,” replied Hermione honestly, cutting the piece of meat with her knife and fork, “But some of us actually pay attention to what's happening, Ron.”

Harry almost laughed out loud at Ron's expression at the condescending, I'm-talking-to-a-five-year-old tone, and looked sideways at the newly-weds. Malfoy was conversing awkwardly with the Weasley head of household, looking like he was trying to understand the man's love of all things Muggle, and Ginny appeared as if she was about to develop a stomach ulcer from having to contain all her laughter.

Well, thought Harry, taking a bite of steak, at least they're happy. He looked down at his plate and, trying to ignore the amount of bickering his best friends were dishing out, inwardly exclaimed, This steak is excellent. I'll have to ask Mrs. Weasley to make it again for the next Sunday dinner.

And they all lived happily ever after. Kind of.