Author's Note: Yo! Are we ready for some extreme fluff? 'Cause that's all I'm going to give you. Ever. I mean it. Anyway, I would've included Blaise with the rest of the characters, but there's a limit of four, sorry honey. I would really love reviews, if you can spare the time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I'm extremely flattered that you thought I did. Shucks.

"Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell meeee," Pansy begged. "You know how this is killing me."

"Absolutely not," said Draco, propping his feet up on the coffee table in the Slytherin common room and hiding his sly smile in a book. He did know. That's what made it so much fun.

"Please," she said, "I'll do anything."

"Groveling isn't becoming of you, Pansy," Draco said, "although, not much is." Pansy snatched the book from his hands and forcibly hit him over the head with it, before realising this probably wasn't the best method of getting information out of him. She wasn't so desperate as to turn to torture yet.

"What's going on?" Blaise asked as he entered the room. He had walked into this scene many times before, of Pansy kneeling on the floor, her hands clasped together, begging, but they had mostly ended when Draco came out and Pansy gave up.

"Draco has a crush and he won't tell me who it is," Pansy complained, her whiny tone exceeding its usual high frequency.

"Well, that makes a lot of sense, considering telling you means telling all of Slytherin," Blaise said.

"I am not that bad!" Pansy said defensively.

"Pansy, you're not just the house gossip… you're the school gossip," Blaise informed her, his comment twisting Pansy's face into a disgruntled kind of scowl.

"Rude," she muttered, but even she knew it was true.

"Wait, a crush?" Blaise asked, and Pansy nodded. "I want to know too." He sat down with them, crossing his legs and cupping his chin in his hands, eyes alight with excitement and curiosity, like a ten-year-old girl at a slumber party awaiting truths told. "Who?"

"Not telling," Draco said, smug as ever.

"I'll clean your room," Pansy told him.

"Ha," he said, "sure you will." Sure, she sounded earnest, but he knew her own dorm looked like it had been hit by round after round of natural disasters. Besides, his was already spotless.

"I'll do your homework."

"You're failing two classes!"

"I'll find out if he likes you."

"Don't you dare."

"I will give you four boxes of chocolate frogs," Blaise suddenly said. Pansy looked up from burying her head in her hands and grinned. That had to be it.

"Ah, chocolate frogs, my one vice," Draco said. "But no." Pansy attacked the couch with both fists in frustration. She wanted, no, needed to know this more than anything ever before.

"How about this," Blaise said, "you don't need to tell us your crush's name. Just tell us about him. If we guess it, you won't have had to tell us directly, and you'll still get the frogs, which will be a relief for me, because my aunt gave me all four boxes for my birthday, and I hate the stuff. Do we have a deal?"

Draco considered this. It was a big risk, but they probably wouldn't end up guessing who it was anyway, and he did love chocolate frogs.

"Alright," Draco said, and the three of them shook on it. "Frogs first." Pansy rolled her eyes, but Blaise hurried back to their room and came back moments later piled high with boxes. Draco opened one, took out a frog and began eating it at an outrageously slow pace, in an effort to make their waiting as painful as possible. Teasing his friends, especially Pansy, was one of his greatest joys in life.

Some agonizing thirty seconds later, during which Pansy and Blaise had done nothing but stare at him impatiently, Draco finally finished eating, sat up, and spoke.

"He's very attractive, and has the most incredible eyes," He sighed. "He's brainy, although he can be rubbish at Potions, and he's very good at quidditch." Pansy and Blaise couldn't believe it. Draco, believed by many to be completely heartless, was actually swooning before their eyes.

"What else?" Pansy asked eagerly.

"He's funny and he's so, so sweet, not that he's ever been so to me. He's got lots of friends but barely any family, and he's unhealthily obsessed with treacle tarts. I swear, those things are going to be the death of him." Draco smiled a bit as if eating too many sweets was adorable.

"Much like you and your frogs?" Pansy asked as he started on another one. Draco scowled at her and continued.

"He's dedicated and talented and witty. Most of the teachers like him. He's got his own owl. He's just really… special. Oh, and he doesn't like me, did I mention that?"

Draco's face contorted into an expression he very rarely wore; he looked wistful. His friends could sense his genuine sadness from where they sat, and it was unsettling. It was a very strange occurance of them to feel sorry for him, and the experience was both disturbing and heartwarming.

"What house is he in?" Asked Pansy.

"You'll laugh," said Draco, and reached for another chocolate frog.

"No, we won't," said Blaise, slapping his hand away from the box, just as eager to find out.

"Fine," Draco said. He mentally prepared himself for whatever they were about to say. "Gryffindor."

Blaise's eyes widened. Pansy's mouth went slack.

"Gryffindor?" Pansy asked, her voice trembling. "Oh my god."

"I know, I know, you're allowed to ridicule me," Draco said, "I know how pathetic it is."

"No, it's not that," responded Blaise, visibly struggling to fit pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle.

"Then what is it?" Asked Draco.

"It's just that," began Pansy, unsure of how to tell him. "We only know one male Gryffindor who fits that description."

"That's not possible," said Draco, "you can't possibly know every Gryffindor."

"Oh, but I do," Pansy said. "I'm the school gossip, remember? I keep tabs on nearly every student, at least all the older ones, and there is one person in Gryffindor, only one person, who matches your description."

Draco began sweating nervously. "I don't believe you."

"Oh, yeah?" Pansy challenged. "Ask me any question about him and I'll know the answer."

"Okay," Draco said, starting to regret everything he'd said all the more. "What colour are his eyes?"

"The 'most incredible' ones? Easy," she told him, "they're green." Draco's face sank into the depths of the ocean. She knew. Blaise knew.

Why hadn't he remembered Pansy's near freakish knowledge of their classmates? Why hadn't he taken that into account? Did he really love chocolate frogs that much, as to risk the one secret he couldn't let anyone find out, lest he be laughed at by not only every single student at his school (and probably his teachers too, he was so pathetic), but also by the one person whose opinion of him, although already probably tremendously low, mattered more than anyone else's? Damn his love of chocolate frogs. Damn his sweet tooth.

"I have to go," Pansy suddenly said, and got up from the floor.

Draco shot straight up. "Where? You're not going to tell him, are you? Because you know you're not allowed to tell him, right? Please don't tell him. Please." On the last sentence, Draco's voice cracked and hot, shameful tears sprung to his eyes. Hearing him beg like this, her usually dignified friend, broke Pansy's heart.

"I know, and I won't," she reassured him, and he slumped back into his seat where he had been sitting so relaxed just moments before. "I just need to find a few things out. Blaise, you're coming with me."

"Fine," he sighed, and they marched out the door and into their castle.

2

They found Hermione sitting in the stands in the freezing cold Quidditch pitch, peering through a pair of omnioculars, watching her boyfriend and best friend practice for the big match on Saturday. It would be an intense and high-pressure Gryffindor versus Slytherin that would determine who would be taking the lead for the cup. When she heard their footsteps and Blaise's futile cursing of the cold, she set the omnioculars down and turned around to frown at them.

"Parkinson. Zabini. What do you want?" She asked, arms crossed, to both demonstrate her annoyance with them and warm herself from the frigid February air.

"Hi, Hermione!" Pansy said with an overly enthusiastic smile and wave. "It's so nice to see you. And please, you're among friends. Call us by our first names."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You heard me," said Pansy, "In the name of a shared, higher interest, and sparing the world of your frankly, very pathetic and weak insults, we've come to make peace."

Both of Hermione's eyebrows were raised now.

"You?" She snorted. "Want to make peace?" She would've been sure she was joking, had Hermione never seen Pansy look so serious in her entire life. All Blaise looked was cold.

"Well, yes," Pansy replied, realising herself how stupid this sounded. "This petty Gryffindor-Slytherin feud is idiotic, and I think if the three of us work together, we can achieve something truly great. We'd really like to be your friends if you'd let us."

Hermione, in her shocked silence, was surprised to find herself smiling.

"Does that mean yes?" Pansy asked, ridiculously hopeful. She really did want to be her friend.

"It does," Hermione said. "I mean, I don't know if I can ever truly forgive you for all the horrible things you've done, but I agree, and I'd like for us to be friends too." If Ron or Harry knew what she was saying, they'd think she was crazy. But their never-ending feud with the Slytherins was idiotic, and although Hermione wasn't sure if she could really trust Pansy and Blaise, at least not yet, it was definitely the logical thing to just make peace with them.

"Yay!" Pansy cheered with glee, and tackled poor, unexpecting Hermione to the ground in an enormous bear hug.

"So, what's the truly great thing you want us to achieve?" Hermione asked after she'd gotten up and brushed the flakes of ice off her cloak.

"We'll talk about it inside," Blaise muttered under his breath, and headed toward the castle. Poor, cold Blaise. Mocking giggles followed the trail of footprints he left in the frosty lawn.

"So you're telling me that Draco likes Harry?" Hermione, in short, was flabbergasted. How could this be? He had always hated Harry, as Harry hated him… right?

"He has to," Pansy replied, stirring sugar into her tea. They were back in the Slytherin common room, on the same exact couch, thankfully without Draco this time. He'd left the common room a long time ago, to go sulk under his covers. "There's no other explanation. Harry's the only person it could be."

"And how do you know?" Hermione questioned. "Do you really expect me to believe you know everything about everyone, or, at least enough to know a person just from a simple list of their good characteristics?"

"Your middle name is Jean, your birthday is September nineteenth, your greatest fear is failure, you've read every book in the library four times, excluding the ones from the restricted section, and your parents are both dentists, which I've been informed is like a healer for your teeth," she said. Pansy enjoyed breaking unbelievers, and Hermione certainly did look impressed. "Your 'simple characteristics' are obvious even to strangers, so I thought you'd appreciate some deeper knowledge."

"Wow," Hermione said, with a nod of recognition to Pansy's disturbing, yet currently very helpful hobby, "I am both amazed and creeped out."

"So you believe me?" Pansy asked.

"I do," Hermione was forced to admit. "Malfoy has a crush on Harry. Oh my god."

"That was my reaction," Pansy said. "As well as Blaise's." She nodded to the sleeping mass in the armchair across from them, his snores reverberating around the underwater room. He'd passed out into deep hibernation almost as soon as they'd returned to the common room, rescued from the ruthless winter winds by a cushy velvet armchair and blanket.

"Do you think," Pansy started, almost unwilling to ask, wanting to continue living in an ignorant, sheltered world in which she would never know whether her friend's affections were reciprocated; maybe yes, maybe no, but no definite no. She didn't want to open Schrödinger's box. But she had too. "Do you think Harry likes him back?"

For a moment, Hermione didn't respond, and Pansy became more and more nervous.

"I don't know," she said, and Pansy slumped in her seat. "I do know, however, that Harry definitely likes someone." Pansy's face brightened. There was still hope.

"And you don't have any idea who?" She asked.

"No," said Hermione, "But I bet I could find out."

"If he's anything like Draco, you may need to bribe him," said Pansy. "We were just lucky Blaise had those chocolate frogs on hand, or we may never have found out anything."

"Well, chocolate frogs won't be any help," Hermione mused, "but there may be something that will."

3

"Do you fancy anyone, Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly, catching Harry off guard and jolting him out of his thorough memorization of outrageously dull facts regarding the goblin wars. Hermione never interrupted studying for anything, so he became immediately suspicious.

"First of all, how is that any of your business, and second… is that a treacle tart?"

Hermione smiled. "To answer your questions, I'm your best friend, therefore it's entirely my business, and yes, it is indeed. All you have to do to earn it is answer my question."

"But we're in the middle of studying," Harry frowned. "We have a test tomorrow."

Hermione waved the tart under his nose, letting its sickly sweet aroma waft up into his nostrils, filling his heart with want. "You could use a break." Harry was too intoxicated by its delicious scent and weakened by his starving stomach, which had begun to sound like it was imitating a whale, to even realise how strange and abnormal this was. There was a test tomorrow. Hermione should have been in full-on, red alert emergency mode, and instead she was offering him dessert in exchange for information. But Harry was salivating far too much to be thinking about that.

"Okay, I'll do it," Harry told her, and reached for the promised tart, but Hermione, too fast for him, uttered a quick 'wingardium leviosa' and suspending it near the common room ceiling.

"First, tell me if you fancy anyone," she said.

Now Harry was forced to realise Hermione's strange behaviour, but his love for treacle tarts was too strong for him to dwell on it for more than a few seconds.

"Yes," Harry admitted, "I do fancy someone. A lot. Can I have my tart now?"

"Not until you tell me about him," said Hermione.

"What?" Demanded Harry, standing on his toes on the armchair and stretching his arms and fingers the farthest they'd reach, still nowhere near getting the tart. "That's ridiculous. Also, how do you know it's a him?"

"Oh, come on, Harry," Hermione said, "Remember Cedric? It was painfully obvious you had a crush on him. Well, only to me, since no one else is nearly as observant."

"Fair enough."

"So anyway, Harry, if you ever want to see your precious treacle tart again, you'll tell me about your crush," she told him. She knew she was being totally unreasonable, but she also knew that without a treacle tart on her side, she would never drag the truth out of him.

"Fine," Harry grumbled. After a few seconds of sulking, he mumbled, "he's really, really good-looking."

Hermione rolled her eyes. As attractive as she had to admit Draco was, that wasn't helpful. That could mean anyone. "Go on."

"He's smart, he's bloody brilliant, but he just uses it to be snarky and pick fights," he said. Now they were getting somewhere.

"What else?"

"He thinks he's the greatest person in the world," Harry said this with contempt, but the fondness on his face showed he clearly thought the same.

"He can play quidditch really well. He's rich, but that's not why I like him. I think he's a far better person than he pretends to be. I think he's really sweet. I think he's amazing." This last sentence Harry said very softly, like the truth it held scared him.

"And what house is he in?" Hermione asked tentatively. The moment of truth.

"Slytherin," Harry hung his head low, suddenly sad. "None of that matters though. I already know he hates me."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Hermione murmured, but Harry didn't even hear her. He was too busy devouring with gusto the treacle tart he had so painfully earned. Contemplating his crush's obvious loathing of him made him hungry.

Hermione found her new friends playing cards in the Great Hall and greeted them with an enthusiastic smile that confirmed Pansy's wildest hopes and dreams.

"Are you sure?" She asked her.

"One hundred percent," Hermione replied. "Now what do we do?"

"Nothing?" Blaise asked hopefully.

"Of course not," Pansy scolded him, "I have an idea." She whispered into Hermione's ear, and then Blaise's.

"I love it," Hermione said, her grin growing even larger.

"It's stupid," Blaise said, "you don't think they'll realise it's us?"

Pansy smiled. "We'll see."

4

Days later, Draco was still spending all his free time moping around the Slytherin common room in despair, being whiny and angsty and repeatedly cursing his love of chocolate frogs. He'd been lying on and monopolizing the couch, absently picking balls of lint off his robes when Blaise walked up to him and dropped a box of them next to his head.

"What the hell is this?" He demanded, his voice hoarse from crying, knocking them to the floor with the back of his hand. "You think I want to eat these now? Now that they've been forever martyred as my downfall?"

"For the last time, accidentally revealing some personal information to your friends is not your 'downfall'," Blaise told him.

"It was more than personal," Draco argued, "I kept that secret close to my heart!"

"I didn't even think you had a heart," Blaise muttered under his breath.

"Exactly," Draco said, "once people realise I'm not a soulless robot I'll be done for! How could I let some stupid sweets penetrate my cold, emotionless persona? I'm ruined!"

"You're so dramatic," Blaise told him. "Besides, the frogs aren't from me."

"I don't want Pansy's sympathy food."

"They're not from her either."

Draco looked up. "From who, then?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Of course I would," Draco said, sitting upright. "Who?" Blaise handed him the box, with its giver's name written inside its card, and Draco's breath hitched when he read it. His eyes widened to twice their normal size. He turned on Blaise. "Is this real?"

"What?"

"Is this real?" Draco demanded again, looking Blaise dead in the eye. "Because if you tell me it is, and it's not, god help me, I will break you, Blaise. I will tear every single cell in your body apart and set it all aflame. Because you have no idea how much I want this to be real. If you are playing some sick joke on me for your twisted pleasure, you had better beg for mercy." Blaise had a short but heated debate in his head on how much he valued his life. He eventually came to the conclusion that he'd rather face the wrath of Draco than that of Pansy.

"It's real," Blaise lied, and Draco's eyes filled with tears of joy. Blaise was begging any and every deity that Pansy's plan worked. He really, really didn't want to die.

"Another treacle tart?" A puzzled Harry asked Hermione as she sat down next to him in the squashy armchairs by the fire, a dessert identical to the one he had eaten just a few days ago in her hands.

"Yes," said Hermione, "except this time it's free. And it's not from me."

"Who's it from?" Harry asked her, snatching the tart from her hands before she had the chance to change her mind about it being free. The memories of what he'd had to do earn the last one were still fresh and painful in his mind like a new cut, and wasn't going to let it happen again.

"Your crush," Hermione said, causing Harry to choke on and spit out the portion of it he had already stuffed into his mouth.

"No, it's not," Harry said, and started eating the spat-out treacle tart off of his robes, causing Hermione to grimace in disgust at him. "It can't be from him. I already told you. He doesn't like me. He… he hates me." His eyes became sad, thinking about this. "Wait, how do you know who my crush is, anyway?" Harry asked her skeptically, his robes finally clean. "All I did was tell you about him, I never told you his name."

"Seriously, Harry?" Hermione asked, disappointed. "You couldn't have been more obvious. What Slytherin do we know well that is rich, smart, snarky, good at quidditch, good-looking, and thinks highly of himself?"

"All of them?" Harry offered hopefully.

"Oh, come on, Harry. It's obviously Mal-," she started, but Harry clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Just tell the whole common room, why don't you?" He said, taking his hand of her mouth and sinking into his chair in disgust. Not with her, but with himself.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Hermione told him.

"But it is!" Harry said, "I mean, it's Malfoy. I hate Malfoy, and he hates me."

"Except… maybe you don't?" Said Hermione, smiling a small smile.

"Yeah."

"But Harry, he doesn't hate you. I'm telling you, he came up to me in the hallway and asked me to give this to you from him, said he knew it was your favourite. He was blushing really hard, too."

"That doesn't mean he likes me," Harry said doubtfully, but his face was positively glowing with hope.

"He also said he really likes you, but he's too painfully shy to actually approach you since you two have been feuding for so long, and a treacle tart was better than flowers and candy," Hermione informed him, lying through her teeth with astounding ease.

"Oh," Harry sighed, and melted before Hermione's eyes.

"That's the last time I'm doing your dirty work," Blaise informed them. They were meeting secretly on a beautiful Friday afternoon by the lake. The cold weather was finally beginning to break into milder, less freezing temperatures, and you could see patches of baby blue sky and brilliant, warm sunshine between the quickly departing clouds. Despite the weather taking a turn for the nicer, Blaise was still able to find something to gripe about.

"Oh, hush," said Pansy. "It's all coming together."

"Now they're both thinking of nothing but eachother," Hermione explained, "since they both think the other gave them a very thoughtful gift, ones that satisfy their respective sweet tooths. Now we just have to wait until they see eachother next."

"Which is when?" Blaise asked.

"Tomorrow morning at the Quidditch match. Perfect, isn't it?" Pansy said, glowing with excitement.

"Since they're both seekers, they'll be forced to look at eachother, and when they do…" Hermione squealed, a highly unusual thing for her to do.

"Well, no matter if it works or not, I'm staying out of it," Blaise said.

"That's fine," Pansy said, "You've done your part." Turning away from a slightly hurt Blaise, she and Hermione continued deriving great pleasure (too much pleasure?) from adeptly manipulating their friends.

5

The next morning, the morning of the big Quidditch match and even bigger completion of a completely ridiculous plot, there proved to be some complications in Pansy's, Hermione's, (and unwillingly, Blaise's) plan. Both boys refused to get out of bed.

"Harry," Hermione said in despair, "you have to get up. Gryffindor is depending on you. I'm depending on you."

"I can't," Harry moaned, "I can't face him."

"Because… why?" Hermione asked.

"I wouldn't know what to say! How to thank him, how to tell him how much I like him! Don't you understand how stressed I am, Hermione?" Harry hopped out of bed, and began manically pacing the floor. At least that was a start.

"It's a game of Quidditch, Harry, you won't be saying anything," Hermione said, "you'll be too busy, um, playing." She prayed Harry didn't notice the smirk that had crept onto her lips. "Please, Harry. There isn't a reserve seeker… the team needs you."

"Fine," Harry crumbled, wearing a look that expressed very clearly he would rather be going to his own execution than this Quidditch match.

Meanwhile, Draco was being an even bigger baby.

"No!" He yelled. He was throwing pillow after pillow at Pansy, in an effort to keep her away and from somehow dragging him down to the Quidditch pitch and to his doom.

"Draco, please," Pansy begged him, ducking a pillow that sailed neatly over her head and hit poor Goyle square in the face. She looked desperately to Blaise for support but all she got back was a shrug and a look that clearly said 'you're on your own'.

"The first time I see Harry, truly see Harry, is not going to be a during dirty, freezing cold Quidditch match."

"Would you rather not show up and break his heart?" Pansy asked him. Draco stopped throwing pillows at Pansy's head to think. He wasn't sure.

Pansy, Hermione and Blaise were all seated together in the stands, waiting impatiently with the rest of the school for the match to begin, but for an entirely different reason. Not that they didn't love a good game of Quidditch, but what was that compared to the possibility of seeing their friends finally get together, and all thanks to their masterful manipulating? Nothing.

"I bought celebratory chocolate cauldrons," Pansy sang as she passed out the sweets, a fitting prize for their efforts. The three needed to shout to hear eachother over the din. The crowd was roaring with excitement in anticipation of the match, the biggest one thus far that year, the one that would solidify which house would be taking the lead on glory-paved road for the Quidditch cup.

The match was about to start. The referee, Madam Hooch, was hovering on her broom, waiting for the teams to march out onto the pitch and rise up into the air on their fleet of broomsticks. But they didn't come.

"Where are they?" Hermione wondered aloud. An uncomfortable wave of curiosity and unease washed over the hoards of students and teachers in the stands, causing whispered doubts and rumours to spring up in the absence of the expected Quidditch match.

Finally both teams walked onto the pitch, and both appeared to be dragging their respective seekers behind them, as the two boys fought against their restraints with all their might. As soon as they were forced to look up, their eyes met, and they broke free and ran toward eachother. At first, the crowd thought they were about to see what they had already seen many, many times before, but they were wrong. There were no insults, no hexes, no punching, and no calling the other's mother a mudblood.

What happened made the crowd gasp. Then… aww. Then applaud with enough force to rattle the goalposts.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had run into each other's arms, and kissed a kiss so adorable and so touching and so clearly loving that it was enough to completely wipe away an eight-year feud and more. It was enough to hand them a fresh, new start on a silver platter, no conditions, no technicalities, and no questions asked.

Minutes later, while the crowd was beginning to grow restless, Harry and Draco continued to kiss one another with sugary sweet kisses that tasted like chocolate frogs and treacle tarts and pure, pure bliss. Through the omnioculars, and admittedly teary eyes, Hermione could see them grinning like idiots between kisses. Idiots in love.

"Are we ever going to tell them it was us who sent the sweets?" Asked Blaise, ever the wet blanket.

"I expect someday, when they're not too distracted by eachother," Hermione said.

"Which means never," supplied Pansy, her turn at watching them through the omnioculars, and they both knew she was right.

"I wonder if we would have ever been able to help them like this, if they didn't both have such a sweet tooth," said Hermione.

"Oh, I don't know," Blaise said, "I like to think I have some pretty good dirt on Draco. If bribery didn't work, we could have always opted for blackmail." Hermione and Pansy laughed good heartedly, thinking he was joking.