was pink cheeked, Harry was envious and ecstatic, and the Gyrffindor lounge smelled distinctly like Sweaty Boy.
Given that her senses seemed to be on permanent overdrive, Hermione had jumped at the chance to make a discreet exit away from her school mates, mumbling her apologies and giving a beaming Ron a final congragutulatory pat on the shoulder.
The Prefects' Bathroom fairly beckoned her.
There was quite obviously a reason why the tub could fit more than one, stout prefect, though that particular use of the bathroom was never uttered in polite company. Ron was not usually deemed to be polite company and had on more than one occasion, speculated aloud.
"Do you reckon anyone's shagged in there?" he had voiced, one sixth year Transfiguration afternoon.
"Have you?" Seamus Finnegan asked in return, dark blond eyebrows waggling. It was a sensible question, given than Ron was a prefect. Hermione couldn't recall what the response had been, and was suddenly thankful.
There had been a time when dating Ron had seemed a logical, almost natural progression, but things had changed in their sixth year. It would have been...well, simple.
Ending up together wouldn't have been a challenge. But Hermione knew that despite his easy-going outlook on life, Ron was after more than 'easy'.
While she remained amused at his new status as dashing and eligible Hogwarts bachelor, thinking of his lanky, freckled person engaging in carnal acts was not ideal. It made her squeamish, to be honest.
He loved her, Hermione was sure of that, would always be sure of that, but she had never been able to find out if he was in love with her. Ever since fourth year, she had been afraid of asking in case he would say yes and then require some sort of reciprocation.
The difference between loving someone and being in-love with someone, Ginny had assured, was enormous. Hermione would have to give the younger girl the benefit of the doubt, seeing as Hermione could not confess to having felt that way about anyone.
Once she was safely cloistered in the bathroom, having added the 'Do Not Disturb' tag to the door, she knelt beside the numerous taps that circled the tub and decided that a refreshing bath was in order. The humid weather simply called for it.
She turned a series of bright green taps on and inhaled the invigorating scent of evergreens from the bubbling water than streamed forth. The bubbles were large and sturdy, just the way she liked them. Her lank hair responded immediately by beginning to curl in the light, fragrant steam.
When the water was nearly to the desired level, Hermione removed the bobby pins that held her fringe back, stripped off her clammy uniform and stepped into the bath.
Three quick breast strokes brought her to the far end of the tub where she determined she would soak until the mooncalfs came home.
**
Hogwarts Hospital Wing
"Mr. Malfoy! Will I have to chain your unwilling person to the bed in order to get a look at that shoulder?" Madam Pomfrey demanded.
She had had enough of the rude, sullen boy, who was obviously in a great deal of pain and was refusing to admit it. The bothersome shoulder of his had always been a problem. Malfoy was seated rather stiffly on the edge of an infirmary bed. He would have probably said something nasty in response, but his mouth was a grim, flat line of pain. He looked terrible, but was still on form enough to give her a snooty look.
The Parkinson girl was also there, hovering over him like a mother penguin intent on grooming her stubborn chick. "Madam Pomfrey, I can look after him," she assured. "I'll just take him back to the Common Room. They're having a celebration in his honour, you see. He absolutely has to be there."
Poppy gave the girl a hostile look. "He absolutely doesn't have to be anywhere, Miss Parkinson, unless I declare him fit enough to do so." She turned her attention back to Malfoy. "At least let me give you a salve to rub over the area. You can leave it on for an hour or so while you rest a bit."
"We'll do that, then," Pansy said, snatching the small pot of salve from Madam Pomfrey's grasp.
Pomfrey took another good, long look at Malfoy. He was still in full Quidditch gear, gloves and all. The poor boy was probably in too much discomfort to remove any of it at the moment.
"Come on Draco, your public awaits," Pansy implored, oblivious to Madam Pomfrey's frown. It was