---

THIRTY: A Surprise

---

Harry and Ron had spent an excellent and companionable afternoon and early evening meandering about the shops in Hogsmeade with Yolande Zabini, whose quiet company Harry was finding he truly enjoyed. Yolande was a bit like a cross between Hermione and Draco – clever and book-smart, with a dry, often biting wit - coupled with a warm and fuzzy side that she seemed fond of denying. When he caught her cooing at one of the owls through the pet shop window, though, her soft side was rather prominently on display.

It had made Harry anxious to learn that Hermione, Draco and Ginny had gone on to Muggle London, but he knew better, at this point, than to go all hero and demand they return. For one, he had no idea where they were headed or how to find them; for another, he knew that none of the three would appreciate being ‘rescued’ by him when they were not in any precise sort of trouble. Especially not for mischief he certainly would have been involved in if he’d thought it up first.

When Yolande’s expression had fallen, it became apparent to Harry that she’d been hoping he’d do something stupidly heroic. Now the blonde shifted uncomfortably as they waited for the trio to return from Muggle London, and her eyes darted to the magical doorway of the Leaky Cauldron every two minutes, as though Harry, who was seated facing the entrance, could have possibly missed the arrival of the three they were waiting on. Ron was telling a very funny story about Madam Rosmerta and the last time she’d caught his elder brothers trying to sneak some mead, but Harry was listening with only half an ear.

He realized he was still anxious when he caught sight of a random blonde man in the doorway and jolted slightly in his chair – but it was only a man in Muggle clothing, with a girl hanging on each arm.

Merlin, Harry reflected, have some decency towards those of us who don’t have one.

Then he realized that the man and two girls were approaching them.

Then he realized the man was Malfoy.

“Oh my God,” he said aloud, standing.

Draco was attempting to glare at him, but every now and then he would break into a small helplessly sheepish smile. He was flushing slightly.

“Oh God,” Harry repeated.

Draco Malfoy looked amazing. Literally every eye in the room was on him, and for once he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe just didn’t appreciate it the way he usually did. He slid into the chair across from Ron, who goggled silently.

Yolande wolf-whistled.

The inside of Harry’s mouth felt dry for some reason. “What...?” he murmured.

“You gave me to two girls, that’s what,” Draco moaned, putting his head in his hands, and suddenly he was just Draco Malfoy, no matter what it was that he was wearing.

“I didn’t imagine Ginny’d–” Harry began.

“Hermione!” Ron choked out.

Yolande and Ron were staring at the girl who’d been by Draco’s arm, and now Harry realized that girl with the sophisticated hair was Hermione... it was like seeing her at the Yule Ball all over again. She looked so much older, and he could see the hollow of her throat and the curve of her neck...

Harry’s mouth felt parched. He took a long sip of butterbeer.

Worst of all was Ginny, who’d dressed to kill. She hadn’t done anything to her bright red hair, but she was wearing a clingy shirt and a skirt short enough to make her brother choke.

Harry wondered if they were trying to kill him. It was as though his hormones, long dormant, had suddenly realized they were living in a sixteen-year-old boy.

“I feel surprisingly like I ought to’ve dressed up,” Yolande said dryly.

“Now aren’t you sorry you didn’t come?” Hermione demanded. She turned to Ron. “Well? Say something, even if it’s, ‘where did it all go?’!”

Ron coughed on air. “B-bloody brilliant!” he managed, before burying himself in his beer.

“Oh. Well, good,” she replied.

Yolande went a step farther by scooting back her seat and moving behind Hermione. “You need two clips... like this,” she murmured, drawing Hermione’s hair slightly out of her eyes on each side.

The effect was dramatic. Harry caught Draco nodding enthusiastically out of the corner of his eye.

Meanwhile, Yolande had her hands in Hermione’s hair, which Ron didn’t even seem to be noting as a bad thing... perhaps he hadn’t guessed about the blonde girl, yet.

“Well, yes, it’s excellent to be able to see,” Hermione commented, her tone wry. “Until we left London I hadn’t realized that I wouldn’t be able to tuck it behind one ear anymore, or not for long; it slips out. It’s going to have to be kept out of the way somehow.”

“Kept out of the way,” Draco scoffed. “Listen to you. One would almost think you weren’t even a girl, the way you go on.”

“And one would almost think you were, the way that you go on,” Hermione replied.

Draco laughed, and Harry realized abruptly that he had finally learned when Hermione was serious and when she was not.

This, apparently, was a code red from Ron’s point of view. “I think it’d look great with clips,” he volunteered. “Maybe some red-and-gold ones.”

“I rather like purple,” Hermione said neutrally, which quieted Ron and reminded him rather subtly about her position as a member of the Unsorted House.

“We’ll get you purple, then,” Draco said, and now Harry was certain he was just saying so to bother Ron.

Hermione didn’t seem as definite, however. She eyed Draco uneasily, then motioned for Madam Rosmerta while Ron seethed. “Could we get some butterbeers and some food menus? Thanks.”

“I had no idea you were off to Muggle London, Ginny,” Harry said, trying not to flush as he looked at her. “I wouldn’t’ve... lent you Draco, if I knew you were.”

“Oh, it was good for him,” Ginny said dismissively. “And he got excellent things, didn’t you, Draco?”

“Oh, no,” Draco said flatly. “I’m not listening to you anymore. Your two hours are up. She threw away my robes, Harry.”

“Tattle,” Ginny said amicably.

“Did you really throw away his things?” Harry demanded.

Ginny shrugged. “I wanted him to wear Muggle clothes for a couple of hours, Harry. So, yes, I tossed his robes. Don’t let him fool you. I’m sure he’s got five just like them in his wardrobes back at Slytherin; he can change the moment he gets back.”

“All I have to endure is this rather public humiliation, then,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“They look nice, matter of fact,” Yolande said, eyeing him. “Really well-made. What’s the fabric?”

“Angora,” Ginny said before Draco had a chance to reply. “Or mostly. Angora cotton mix, really hard to find. And really soft.”

Harry took part of Draco’s sleeve and rubbed it between his fingers. “Hunh.” His eyes met Draco’s, and he saw that the other boy was fatigued, more fatigued than he ought to have been just from a day of walking around – but then he remembered Draco had been tired before. “You all right?” he inquired, when Hermione, Ginny and Yolande were all absorbed in a gigglefest over the amount of hair she’d shed and Ron’s features were buried behind his menu.

Draco looked up and quirked a small smile. “I feel practically naked. I know I’m covered, technically, but – are all Muggles perverts or something? These pants are tight, but they sort of move around me so that they’re never too tight. They feel odd. And I’m hot in this sweater. It’s so close in here.”

“You’re obviously not all right,” Harry countered at the other boy’s anxious tones. “Anyway, it looks – it’s...” He paused. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“Oh.” Draco leaned back into his chair and away from Harry, shoulders slumping in disappointment.

“It looks – not like you,” Harry said uncomfortably. “But good – I mean, really good. But not – you.”

Harry caught Draco in one of his rare, slow smiles, and smiled himself when he realized that it was time to stop calling them rare. “Can I give you some of these clothes?” Draco wondered quietly, shooting a careful glance towards Ginny Weasley. “We’re nearly the same size, and I don’t need – I mean, I don’t really want –”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry agreed. “Thanks. So, let’s see what you got.”

They spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes, even Ron, examining the purchases, and Harry watched Draco look a little bit more lighthearted with each nod and approving smile; and once the bags had been emptied and painstakingly re-packed – by Draco – Harry wondered if he were going to get a single shirt or pair of trousers after all.

---

They were late getting back to Hogwarts Castle, Hermione and Ginny slumping with exhaustion, Draco even more so. Harry felt a stab of worry as the blond boy stumbled over his own feet, catching himself on a cobblestone – and he certainly didn’t thank Harry for stopping his fall, although he dropped back and stuck very close to him from then on.

Hermione looked like she was content to fall asleep with her face buried in Ron’s shoulder, and the fact that she was walking didn’t appear to hinder her journey to slumber one iota.

“We should just Apparate to the edge of the grounds,” Draco slurred tiredly, and Harry shot him another anxious glance. “Save us all this walking.”

“Oh, perfect,” Yolande said. “Except where it’s illegal and you’re asleep.”

They were a bit late slipping back into the castle than they actually ought to have been, but that hardly prevented Draco from being as loud as he felt like, imitating Hermione’s struggles at the hairdresser’s, flinging his arms about and incidentally knocking Ron in the face with one of his clothes bags.

“Well, that’s a fine by-your-leave,” Hermione said, “considering I did it because of you.”

“Because of him?” Ron squeaked, and Hermione eyed him with a long-suffering patience.

“I just thought people ought to be staring at something besides the great Draco Malfoy in Muggle clothes.”

“You did not, Granger, that’s patentedly ridiculous,” Draco returned. “I practically forced you into it, anyway.”

“Believe what you like,” she said. A small pause. “It’s called empathy,” she added, “if you’d like to look it up.”

“Looking things up is your department,” Draco replied crossly, but Harry noted that he was staring at Hermione the way he often stared at Harry – as if he didn’t quite know whether to take her at face value or not.

“Well, anyway,” she said, “I’m off to bed, I’m dead tired.” She kissed Ginny and Yolande on the cheek and hugged Harry and Ron. Then she looked at Draco in slight confusion.

“I wouldn’t think about it–” Draco began.

Hermione was already sticking her hand out to shake.

“Oh,” he said. He put down his bags and examined her hand.

Harry didn’t say anything; he was afraid to. It was one thing to be forced to spend time with Hermione and be civil to her. It was another to make physical contact. Harry felt poised on the moment, and did not want to order Malfoy to touch Hermione.

He didn’t want to have to.

Draco shot a look back to Harry, as though divining Harry’s thoughts and wishing Harry would just take the decision out of his hands, but Harry shrugged.

“Oh, fine, then,” Hermione said tightly, lowering her hand away from his grasp; Ron wrapped his arm about her shoulders again, leveling a Death Glare at Malfoy.

Hermione twitched a strained smile. “How’s a ‘see you tomorrow?’”

“See you tomorrow,” Draco parroted, and Ron, Hermione and Ginny turned to head towards the Gryffindor dorms.

“What was that, you idiot?.!” Yolande stormed, pushing Draco up against the wall with an open-handed shove. “What’s your problem?”

“I have a club,” Draco replied, haughty. “Apparently. And Granger doesn’t belong.”

Harry sighed, pushing his glasses up with one finger, wanting to reprimand Draco but noting that the blond boy looked as though he was doing the job rather thoroughly on his own. His newly-styled hair was in disarray as he ran his fingers through it; his features were flushed and he was frowning in some combination of anger and dismay.

Yolande didn’t share Harry’s reservations. “I know all about your sodding club,” she spat. “Yours and your father’s. Hermione would never be a part of that club, and it has nothing to do with her being a Muggleborn or a Gryffindor... she cut off all of her hair just to make you feel better, you twisted little prat – and you won’t so much as shake her hand. D’you know what that means?”

Draco turned half-away from her, his eyes trailing down and to his left.

“It means she’s on a different level from you,” Yolande spat. “Always has been, always will be.” She dropped Draco’s new fluffy sweater and stormed in the opposite direction as the Gryffindors, presumably off to the Slytherin dorms.

Draco gave a brittle little laugh and stormed off after her, only to turn around and begin stalking in the opposite direction. After a moment he slid into a seated position directly in the centre of the hallway.

Harry watched him for a moment, waited for him to settle, then sat across from him.

“Potter,” Draco said.

“Draco,” Harry replied, unwilling to call him Malfoy, despite everything.

“Why haven’t you chased after Weasley and Granger?” he muttered.

“Hermione seemed quite all right,” Harry replied. “You, rather less so.”

Draco stared at him blankly before his features twisted with rage. “What is the matter with you people?.!” he demanded wildly, shoving Harry down.

Harry blinked; his head had smacked slightly against the floor, not hard enough to make him feel dizzy but certainly hard enough to smart.

Draco had risen again to his feet. “My father’s the Death Eater, Potter, and you expect me to shake hands with that girl, that Muggleborn, as if it’s normal! I can’t! I’m not made that way!”

Harry remained seated, backing up until he was against one of the walls so that he could better view Draco. Otherwise, it was hard to keep track of the blond, who was a dynamo of repressed energy, stalking and whirling a ten-foot by ten-foot space of corridor and barking demands at him.

“You have to be able to see by now! I’m not – I’m not – I can’t–”

“Finish sentences?” Harry asked.

“This. Is. Not. Funny, Potter!”

“I beg to differ,” Harry said, although his voice was serious. “Has it ever occurred to you that if you were the raging bastard you seem to think you are, this wouldn’t be bothering you at all? You’re tearing yourself apart because you couldn’t shake Hermione’s hand, you know.”

“I’m tearing myself apart because you expect me to shake Hermione Granger’s hand!”

“And?” Harry asked, although he suspected he knew the answer.

“And? And?.!” Draco shouted at him. “And I’m supposed to obey you!”

“I never ordered you to like Hermione.”

“You told me I’d benefit from befriending her, didn’t you?”

“That’s advice.”

“Well – well it was good advice,” Draco said.

Harry glared at him.

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Harry?” The Slytherin’s angry expression dissolved completely into confusion. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” He slumped down next to Harry, leaning until the back of his head touched the rough-hewn stone of the corridor wall.

“I can’t,” Harry said.

“That’s your current job description,” Draco informed him, “in case you forgot.”

“Think about why you care so much and maybe then-”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Draco swore, suddenly angry again. “I care about her because I care about you! Obviously!”

Harry’s lips parted in surprise.

“Well – I mean, of course you knew that,” Draco mumbled, pulling his knees close to his chest and wrapping his arms around them tightly. “I mean – even Granger said we were friends, didn’t she?”

Harry tried to gather his wits together to form a reply. “Uhm... well, I’m sitting on this freezing-cold floor with you after hours, when we could easily be caught by Filch, so yes, I should hope so.”

“Yes, you’re sitting here,” Draco said. “With the sarcastic, bigoted asshole, instead of with your sweet, forward-thinking fellow Gryffindors. Great choice in company, Potter.”

“I’m an idiot,” Harry replied, grinning and ducking his head slightly.

“I’m a worse idiot. I’ll shake her hand tomorrow. In front of the entire school – wearing Muggle clothes, if you like. Wearing an Unsorted badge. In Muggle underwear. In only Muggle underwear.”

Harry laughed. “Are Muggle underwear different from wizarding underwear?” he demanded.

“Yes, Harry, of course they are. Which kind do you wear? And don’t say Muggle.”

“Well – now I’m not sure. You may have to describe both sorts,” Harry replied.

Draco began to giggle helplessly; he buried his head in the fabric of his jeans. “Oh, now I’ve heard it all,” he whispered. “Late at night, in the deserted hallways... Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter meet in secret... to discuss...”

“Underpants,” Harry supplied in a would-be serious tone of voice.

Draco promptly lost it again. “Oh, Merlin!” he said.

“Harry! Draco!”

Harry jolted upright from his position on the floor. Hermione was regarding them both, looking pale and bothered, Ron next to her. His inner alarms began screaming – he knew that look on both their faces and suppressed the sudden urge to shout, ‘who’s dead?’ or ‘point me towards Voldemort!’

Draco, unfortunately, was not so well-acquainted with Ron and Hermione’s strained expressions, and probably was equating them with offense. He bounded to his feet and eyed Hermione frankly.

“Look, I was just telling Harry here I’m an idiot, I’m sure you’re a lovely girl, and it honestly doesn’t matter whether you were raised in a pigpen or whatever, because you certainly are still a witch, and Muggle-ness certainly isn’t catching, and basically what I’m trying to say here is that I’m actually sorry for not shaking your hand–”

Hermione was nodding impatiently. “That’s really wonderful, Malfoy, but–”

“You don’t believe me?” he demanded. “Here.” He grabbed both her hands and shook them while Harry and Ron gaped.

“Malfoy!” she squeaked. “Your mother!”

“This is hardly the time for insults,” Draco stated flatly. “I said I was sorry.”

Hermione choked. “No, your mother–”

“My mother what?”

“Is standing over there,” Ron completed dryly, and he pointed off to their right.

Sure enough, Narcissa Malfoy was standing a mere ten feet away from the four of them, blinking at Draco in a half-daze. Draco looked at Harry, looked down at himself, looked at Hermione and abruptly let go.

“Mother,” he said, his tone arid as the Sahara. “What a surprise.”

---