The weekend had finally arrived, and usually that was good thing. But as this Saturday was Valentine’s Day, Harry and Ron both awoke with feelings of trepidation and impending doom. Maybe the potion would wear off today, Harry thought hopefully. Maybe Malfoy and Hermione would kill each other when it did. That way neither would have to face the humiliation that was in store for them back in reality. But then again, Harry thought, he’d miss Hermione. And life would be rather dull without Malfoy to taunt and threaten to beat up. Or maybe, Harry suddenly thought chillingly, they’d pull a Romeo and Juliet and kill themselves out of their fake love. That must never happen, Harry resolved.
“You know what today is, mate?” Ron said from the next bed over.
“Indeed,” Harry replied.
“You know what we should do?”
“Chain up Hermione and Malfoy so they can’t get within two feet of each other?”
“No, though that is an ace idea. But we should write to my mum.”
Harry rolled over to face Ron’s bed. “Write to your mum?”
“Yeah, so she can tie up Fred and George and then break their wands and their spirits so they become monks in Iceland and never speak to anyone ever again. Better yet, let’s just kill them.”
“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “Or maybe… maybe we should talk to Dumbledore?”
“So he can tie them up and make them monks in Iceland?”
“No, so he can fix this whole mess and memory charm everyone involved.”
“Good idea, mate,” Ron said slowly, sitting up. “Do you know how to do a memory charm?”
“No, and I wasn’t suggesting that we modify everyone’s memories, but ”“
“Why should we get Dumbledore involved?”
“Because I am the headmaster of this school, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said.
Ron shrieked in surprise. Harry turned his head slightly to see a smiling Dumbledore leaning against the doorframe of the boy’s dormitories.
“Professor!” Ron exclaimed. “Are you allowed in here?”
“Don’t be daft, Ron. Of course he is; he’s the headmaster,” Harry said.
“Indeed, Harry. That I am. And I came here to discuss the little problem of Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy. But not here,” Dumbledore added, nodding towards the stirring forms of the other Gryffindor boys. “Let’s take a stroll, shall we?”
“Er, can we get dressed first, Professor?” Harry asked.
“And I was about to carve out their intestines “ sorry, Professor “ but then I figured they wouldn’t be able to explain everything if I did.” Ron continued explaining the details the Twin’s mischief with Harry adding helpful tidbits every now and then. When they reached the end of their tale, Harry asked curiously, “So how did you know about this, Professor?”
Dumbledore smiled enigmatically. He stopped at the shore of the lake and said, “I have my sources. But don’t you think that it’s rather suspicious when one of Hogwarts’ brighter students mysteriously receives a zero for the day in a class? Well, I thought so and I brought it upon myself to investigate. But now I see that there is nothing that I can do ”“
“Nothing?” Ron squeaked. “But Professor ”“
“” At the moment, Mr. Weasley. Meanwhile I think it would be a good idea to keep your eyes on Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy to make sure that they do not get into any more trouble. I believe they’ve made plans to meet at Madame Puddifoot’s this afternoon at, oh let’s see, 2 o’clock was it? Not, of course, that I am encouraging eavesdropping on your peers…”
"Oh, of course not, Professor.” Harry said, attempting an honest, good-boy face. “We wouldn’t dream of taking your suggestion that way.”
“Never,” Ron added helpfully.
“Splendid,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. “Have a good Saturday, then, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter.” He began to walk away but then stopped and turned back to the boys. “And I really would not advise you trying a memory charm on anyone, Mr. Weasley. If there is any of that to be done, do ask me first?”
After Dumbledore was out of sight, Ron turned to Harry and asked, “So now what?”
Harry shrugged. “We wait until two.”
And so they did. They only saw Hermione once before then, and that was at breakfast. After that, she seemed to have disappeared.
“Off to go snog that bloody platinum git,” Ron said bitterly when they saw her leave Great Hall with Malfoy close behind.
“Please, Ron, bad imagery,” Harry pleaded. He poked disconsolately at his sad looking eggs.
Ron growled in disgust and slumped back in his chair.
The next few hours seemed interminable and when it was around one-thirty, Ron became even more fidgety. He and Harry were playing a slow game of wizard chess in the common room when Ron suddenly jumped up. “C’mon, Harry. Let’s just go. I’m tired of waiting.”
Harry looked up, not admitting that he, too, was impatient for the spectacle at Madame Puddifoot’s.
“Come on, Harry!” Ron insisted, already at the portrait hole.
“All right,” Harry said and stood up, glad to surrender the game. He was going to lose anyway.
Madame Puddifoot’s, Harry decided as they entered and sat at a corner table, was rather intimidating, and more than little frightening. The soaring cupids really weren’t helping, and Harry was feeling slightly nauseous from all the soppy-eyed glances couples were exchanging. The paper hearts and confetti swirling from the rafters weren’t that appealing either. Harry couldn’t understand how anyone could tolerate it all. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Hermione and Malfoy had just walked through the door, Harry would’ve been all for scrapping the plan and getting out of there, quick.
Ron elbowed him in the side. “Look,” he whispered, pointing at the door. “There they are.”
“Yes, Ron, I have eyes,” Harry muttered. Ron ignored him, staring conspicuously at the mismatched couple.
They took a table near Harry and Ron’s and ordered some drinks. Then they sat and stared at each other. Harry had the sudden thought that maybe they were trying to bore through each other’s eyes and see into the other’s brains, they were staring so intensely. He wondered what was so interesting about another person’s eyes. Maybe Ron was right and they could speak telepathically. Or maybe they were speaking in code. Sort of like two blinks in a row would mean “I love you, dearest,” and then another two would be saying, “You have lovely brains.” Harry smiled to himself. Could a person have lovely brains? Harry’s impression was that all brains were sort of gray of smushy, kind of like overcooked noodles. And still Hermione and Malfoy weren’t doing anything, and Ron was getting fidgety again.
Now Hermione’s eyes were flitting over Malfoy’s face. From his eyes to his nose to his eyes again then to his lips and then back to his eyes. Then suddenly Malfoy’s hand stretched out towards Hermione’s face and she leaned forward, once again intently staring into his eyes. Their lips met and Harry had to turn away. It was wrong; Hermione and Malfoy making-out over a small confetti littered table in a small confetti-littered café in Hogsmeade. He felt indecent just witnessing the scene.
Harry could hear Ron spluttering to regain his breath as he choked on air. Ron clutched Harry’s arm and whispered frantically, “Harry, do something!”
But Harry’s intervention, thankfully, was not needed. For as soon as the couple’s lips separated, Hermione’s face became distorted with a look of absolute surprise and horror. She stood up so quickly she knocked over her chair. Heads turned all over the café to look at them. Malfoy, too, had stood up and was now backing away, his face a picture of disgust and anger.
“What were you doing, Granger?” He wiped his mouth as if to cleanse it of contamination.
“What were you doing, Malfoy?” She grabbed her drink from the table and took a hasty swig, Malfoy having clearly not tasted very good. “Eurgh, this is disgusting. What in the world ”“
“I can’t believe it.” Malfoy interrupted, clutching his forehead. “Did we ” ? I mean, did I ” ? I kissed you! A mudblood!” He looked around, noticing the other patrons and added, “In public!” He seemed about to say more but Harry and Ron rushed over, Ron’s face red with thoughts of murder and doom.
“You!” Malfoy screeched, his usual sangfroid slipping away. “You did this! You rigged this whole thing ”“
“Don’t be a git, Malfoy,” Harry said, disgusted.
“Why would we want to subject Hermione to the absolute humiliation of locking lips with an arse like you?” Ron added angrily.
“Oh,” Hermione gasped, turning bright red and looking like she was about to collapse.
With impeccable timing, Fred and George rushed into the café. Fred, spotting the four, asked, “Did we miss the show? Er, I mean, ah,” He stopped, noticing the looks on Malfoy’s and Hermione’s faces. “I mean, we should be going, now, George, eh? C’mon then.” They turned to go but heavy hands landed on their shoulders.
“Not yet,” Ron said murderously. He reached into his back pocket for his wand. “You have some explaining to do to Hermione.”
“What about me?” Malfoy said indignantly, sounding very uncharacteristically squeaky.
“Uh, well, you see, Ron, brother, dear,” George began nervously. “We, er, have, ah, a pressing engagement, and well ””
“You’ll not be going anywhere,” Dumbledore said quietly from a corner, once again surprising everyone with his sudden and timely appearance, “except my office. All of you.”
“C’mon, Hermione,” Harry said coaxingly. “Was it really that bad?”
She shuddered, staring resolutely at the common room fireplace. “You have no idea, Harry. We composed poetry about each other. And I stared into his eyes.”
“We’ll kill him for you if you like,” Ron suggested helpfully. “And maybe Fred and George too. Though I think Dumbledore has that pretty much covered."
Harry nodded. "It's a good thing he showed up when he did."
"Rather a deus ex machina, don't you think?" Hermione said thoughtfully.
Harry and Ron shurgged. Neither had any idea what she was talking about. Harry did have to agree with Ron about Fred and George. Dumbledore had been particularly ruthless with the twins, subjecting them to a month’s detention with Filch. They ought to be glad Filch still wasn’t allowed to string students up by their toenails. Though Harry couldn’t say that they didn’t deserve it. The headmaster had made the twins tell the whole story, beginning with spiking the pumpkin juice Hermione drank, all the way to the end. Dumbledore had also been kind enough to convince Snape to allow Hermione to redo her Invulnerability Brew, which she did flawlessly, of course, progressing beyond step three and efficiently adding the giraffe bile to her cauldron in the proper order. However, the headmaster had not agreed with Ron’s suggestion to modify everyone’s memories of the incident and Harry suspected that Dumbledore had actually enjoyed parts of the whole debacle.
Malfoy was back to his old tricks, the snide remarks once again oozing from his lips with arrogant condescendence. But it seemed that whenever he met Hermione’s eyes, he froze, and Harry fancied he could see a faint blush creeping up his cheeks at those times. Harry began seeing the whole event as something to hold over Malfoy’s head in the future. Harry liked that feeling of power.
Ron was still indignant about the whole affair and Hermione seemed to find his protectiveness of her somewhat amusing. After a while, though, she was back to her old self, and whenever Ron or Harry would mention the day at Madame Puddifoot’s she would curl her lip in scorn, though her eyes still retained a bit of the horror that she had displayed in the café. At times, Harry began wondering if he should just modify all their memories against Dumbledore’s wishes. Clearly, this matter would not be forgotten otherwise. And Harry would never be able to look at pumpkin juice the same way again. At least not while Fred and George were around.