“I ot my Potions book. I’ll be right back.”

As Harry escaped into the hallway, Hermione looked over at the books he’d brought with him.

“But your Potions book is right there…”

“Talk quickly Weasel, before you try my patience.”

“You don’t have any patience, Malfoy,” Ron quipped before he could stop himself, “But I want to know what your intentions are towards Harry.”

An eyebrow rose in a mocking query. “And what gives you the right to discuss that with me?”

“I don’t need a right. I’m his friend. And I’m not yours. So while I trust his decisions, I question your motives.”

“You’re afraid I’ll hurt him. Your fears are not unfounded, but I cannot hurt him any more than I can hurt myself.”

“I know what being a Veriae entails, Malfoy, and that doesn’t make me feel any better about this.”

“Are you waiting for a declaration of undying love from me? Because if you are you’ll get one. But if I were to say such things, I would say them in Harry presence and Harry’s alone.”

To Draco’s surprise, a smile spread across Ron’s face. “But I’ll hear it at your wedding anyway, so what difference does it make?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you asking?”

“I’m asking if when you kiss Harry, do you feel anything besides your own narcissistic feelings for yourself?”

“Get out of my sight, Weasley,” Draco snarled. “Do you think I would kiss him if I didn’t?”

And Draco slammed the portrait closed, ignoring Medusa’s protests.

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