Author's Note: I was attacked by a very determined plot bunny who grabbed hold of me and didn't let go before I had written it down.
So here it is. Could be a companion piece (sequel/prequel/whatever) to "Kiss me, Harry" but doesn't have to.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Slytherins Are Devious Bastards
When Harry made it to the breakfast table, Ron and Hermione were already there. Ron was busy with eating, in his very own technique, which meant he was trying to eat as much as possible of as many different things as possible as quickly as possible. With trying to look as similar to a pig as possible, Hermione usually commented wryly. This morning she didn't. This morning she was simply staring at the jug of pumpkin juice in front of her, seemingly intent on blasting it to tiny pieces with her glare. By the look of it, Harry feared she would succeed sooner or later.
"What are you doing, Hermione?" he asked carefully, knowing full well what the jug felt, and what he would feel if she turned upon him instead.
"Counting," she growled.
Harry knew that the best way to act would be turning to his own breakfast and leaving Hermione alone, but for some reason he felt kind of reckless and lucky this fine day. Perhaps because it was still early, and he wasn't quite aware of the probable consequences. Or perhaps he was just having a stupid moment.
"What are you counting?" he explored further.
"Numbers."
"Why are you counting numbers?"
"Because it's wise to count to ten before you do something rash."
Harry couldn't disagree with that. The way Hermione looked – like a giant puffer fish – calming down seemed to be a wonderful idea. Only, by the evidence presented so far, it wasn't working.
"Perhaps you should count to hundred instead," he suggested.
"I did," she pressed through clenched teeth, as if she was trying with all her might not to open her mouth and scream, which probably really was the case.
"So where are you now with your counting?"
"Six hundred twenty four. Six hundred twenty five. Six hundred twenty six. Six hundred twenty seven..."
Clear laughter rang out from across the Great Hall, and risking a glance away from going-to-explode-at-any-moment Hermione, Harry found the source at the Slytherin table, where a black-haired girl was practically sitting in Malfoy's lap and flirting shamelessly with him.
That made Harry draw away from her subconsciously. Usually when Hermione and Malfoy had a fight, it somehow always ended with whoever trying to calm them down (that is, Harry) in the Hospital Wing. Thinking about the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Quidditch match of the next day, Harry was ready to do nearly anything to stay away from these two.
"Six hundred thirty four!" Hermione almost yelled, and the glass jug shook dangerously.
"You know, Hermione," Harry tried another tactic. "Perhaps you should let it all out."
On her other side, Ron, who seemed so occupied with eating but was apparently still listening, starting coughing violently. Obviously, he didn't agree.
"Six hundred thirty nine," she said with a much lower but just as perilous voice. "You think?"
"Of course. It's not healthy to bottle it all up inside you. Sure, counting to ten is good advice, but if that doesn't help, you should try different approaches."
Ron was chewing for his life. He knew talking to her with his mouth full would equal quick death right now, but he had to stop Harry from making this huge mistake he was currently so fond of making.
"Let it all out, Hermione. Go to the source of the problem and root it out. Deal with it directly, once and for all."
"You might be right, Harry," she said, sounding absolutely calm. Ron swallowed in horror. Usually, calm Hermione was a good thing. This time, it simply meant she was past the point of no return.
As she slowly rose and walked away from the table, Ron directed his most evil glare, which was more terrified than threatening, though, at Harry.
"What did you do?" he hissed.
"I just saved both of our lives," Harry replied. "And tomorrow's game."
"But you told her to let it all out!!!"
"Yes, but I also told her to go directly to the source. Which means that someone else will be the subject of her bottled-up anger."
Ron considered it for a moment. It actually made sense.
"Too bad we aren't playing with Slytherins tomorrow. We would sure have an advantage."
Harry grinned, took a sip of his drink, and sat back to enjoy the show, just like the rest of the Great Hall.
---
At the Slytherin table, most of its occupants, noticing the danger, quickly drew away from the seemingly oblivious couple.
"There she comes," said the actually not quite so oblivious Daphne, extracting herself from Draco's lap.
"Good," he smiled. "If I had to pretend to enjoy your company any longer, I might just go crazy."
"You are so good at showing your gratitude," the girl smirked.
"I try my best."
"That you do. Enjoy!" she grinned devilishly and made to slip away. Unfortunately for her, she was a second too late.
"Ouch!" Daphne cried out, as a determined hand grasped hold of her hair and pulled none too gently.
"Away, bitch," someone growled into her ear, and then she was thrown away with such force that if Goyle had not been at the right place at the right time (for once) she might have got hurt. This way, however, she landed rather softly on a sprawled-out Goyle.
Sitting up on Goyle's stomach, Daphne was glad to see that at least Draco was getting the same hair-pulling treatment that she had had the honour to experience.
"If you ever do that again," Hermione said, giving his hair another sharp yank (Daphne smirked at that), each word falling like a stone slab onto the impeccable silence made by a lot of people holding their breaths.
"I will make you regret it."
Usually people say this when they can't think of any suitable revenge or punishment; and the common answer to this is superior laugh and haughty expression.
This time, however, not one person in the Great Hall had any inclination to react like that; instead they were suddenly really, really happy they were not in the place of Draco Malfoy, and made a mental note never to anger Hermione Granger.
Because no one even thought to doubt her words.
Hermione's promise was followed by a long moment of silence thick enough to cut with a knife, during which the tension achieved its zenith, and rose some good ten feet above it.
Then she lowered her head and gave him a kiss so hot and passionate that it would have made people raise their eyebrows, blush, or even look away, had they not been too busy sighing in relief and thanking the deity or historical person or whomever of their choice.
Harry gave Ron a smug look as Malfoy was dragged out of the Great Hall, and Ron grinned back. For the sake of their sanity, the two boys were thinking that Hermione had left with Malfoy to properly yell at him. The fact that the Ferret Boy always looked a bit tired afterwards only confirmed their theory.
Exchanging some more grins and then turning back to their food, they were perfectly happy in their little bubble of innocence.
---
"Ouch," Daphne winced, once back at the table, and carefully probing her assaulted scalp.
"I told you so," Pansy smirked from across the table.
"That girl has a pretty good yank," she remarked sourly. "How can Draco handle it?"
"She does him things that make up for all the hair-yanking," Pansy, who was anything but innocent, winked.
Daphne scowled.
"Your reflexes really need some work," Pansy added.
Daphne scowled at her again.
A few moments passed in comfortable silence between the two girls, yet the normal clatter and chatter of the Great Hall was back.
"He really is a devious bastard, isn't he?" Daphne spoke after a while.
"I'll drink to that," Pansy grinned and raised her goblet.
A/N: I hope you liked it. So REVIEW and tell me what was your favourite part of it. I liked most Ron and Harry's bubble of innocence, and Ron trying to chew for his life. :P