Title: Mischief Managed

Author: Vashka

Rating: PG for some sexual innuendo

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling. Also, there is a line shamelessly stolen from The Princess Bride, copyright William Goldman. Can you find it?

Warnings: None

Author Notes: The HP Lexicon was invaluable in the plotting and writing of this fic, as it gave me many ideas for the potions used & abused in this story. Cheers to bambu345 for helping me brainstorm, and to Lorett and deemichelle for the fantastic beta work. Is a bit EWE, but you could say it is selectively AU, rather than completely AU. Also, due to time constraints need to be Brit-picked better than it actually is. Ah well. Enjoy!

Summary: Crazy things happen sometimes. Like utter Bedlam. Like learning how to fly a broom without dying. Like sudden verbal diarrhea. Like taking a chance. Like love.


Chapter Three: In Which There Is a Resolution (Sort Of)


Late Afternoon, Potions Classroom:

Draco and Hermione stood at their respective tables, quite alone in Draco's classroom, studiously brewing their potions. They were also studiously studying each other. Surreptitiously, of course.

Draco had taken off his cloak and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Hermione stared greedily at the long, lean muscles working in his forearms and at the smooth, practiced motions of his elegant hands as he chopped expertly.

I wonder what those hands would feel like on my body. Hermione shivered reflexively at the thought, and tore her eyes away, but not before she caught Draco's smoldering gaze on her exposed cleavage. Bad Hermione!

After a long, excruciatingly arousing session of eye-footsie, Hermione had had enough.

"This is ridiculous. Are we simply going to go on like this?" Hermione looked at him, dark eyes blazing and arms akimbo, "We're both adults. We kissed, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. We can move on with our lives and work together as associates."

Draco carefully put down his ingredients and strolled over to Hermione's worktable. Gently he took her wand and the vial of King Beetles from her unresisting hands. Soothingly, he placed one warm hand on her cold cheek.

"Associates, Hermione?" he asked, voice deep.

Hermione swallowed, and unsuccessfully fought the urge to snuggle her cheek into his large palm. "Acquaintances?" she rasped desperately.

"Hmmm," his voice resonated in his chest and Hermione wanted to lean into him so she could feel the vibrations. "What about friends?"

"Friends," Hermione breathed. She swallowed convulsively and vulnerable eyes looked straight through his to his heart. "I could learn to like that."

"Hermione," Draco whispered, voice hoarse, "I've wanted to ask you… that is… for a long time now I've…"

"Has anyone seen the box of Wonky Potions? It's been taken from the Infirmary!"

Draco groaned loudly and his forehead dropped lightly to rest on Hermione's for a brief moment, while he subdued the innate urge to commit homicide. (Thou shalt not maim with witnesses. Slytherin Handbook, Rule No. 16)

"Did I interrupt an intimate moment? Do go on, I won't be a bother."

"You're a perv, Parkinson!"

"I can't help it! This stupid potion makes me horny all of the time! Come to think of it, it reminds me of being a teenager, all of those stolen moments in broom closets. You should take it for the nostalgia factor alone. Ron is a surprisingly good kisser, once you get past the ick factor of him mentioning Neville in more, erhm, passionate moments." Pansy signed wistfully, and fanned her flushed cheeks.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Nasty!"

Draco held his hands over his ears. "I didn't need to hear that. La, la, la, I so didn't hear that."

Pansy sent him a scathing look. "You needn't be so immature about such things. It is very regressive of you."

"It's not regressive to think that you, Weasel, and Bunny-Boy together is a bloody nightmare."

Hermione shuddered and leaned forward, grappling for a clean, sharp knife that was at the other end of the table, desperately trying to concentrate on the potion she was brewing and not lurid images of various Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"Nice arse, Granger. Have you been working out?"


"Can't a girl be experimental?"


Late Afternoon, Crisis HQ:

"Order! Order!" Hermione yelled without much success, trying to obtain some form of organization from the grumpy and generally dispirited staff. "Did everyone complete the tasks on their lists?"

"Bugger the list," Harry mumbled. "That thing was two bloody feet long."

Hermione glowered at him. "But did you complete it? I was sure that you actually wanted to sleep tonight. Might I be mistaken?"

Harry was mutinously silent. And given his condition, that was saying a lot.

"Hermione, I'mhungry." Ron whined pitifully, eyes large and pleading. "Can we please stop these endless meetings and get some food? We're never going to find the bloke who did this, or that damn box. Might as well give it up."

"Is she your mother now?" Draco sneered disdainfully.

Ron (Who was in a very snappish mood due to forced starvation. He had not eaten in two hours. Hours!) shot him a glare, "As if you're doing any better at your tasks, Malfoy. The potions aren't finished, and the crafty, inanimate box still escapes you."

Draco, looking very Nordic and threatening, snarled, "At least I'm not lusting after a rodent!"

"Leave Neville out of this!" Ron said defensively, "It's the luckiest day of your life; you're supposed to be able to do anything. Can't you find one measly box?"

Draco stopped, mid rant, and stared at Ron for a moment. "Say that again."

"Uh, you're so useless you can't find a box?"

"Before that."

"You're unnaturally lucky?"

"After that!"

"You should be able to do anything?"

"That's it," Draco spun away from a very befuddled Ron and walked to the other end of the table and sat in the chair next to Harry.

With a slightly crazed gleam in his eyes, he met Harry's startled green gaze. "Potter… meet me on the Quidditch pitch for a quick round?"

The general surprise at this comment was quite impressive. (Even Luna looked slightly caught off guard. That hadn't happened in approximately three years, when someone commented on how fashionable her earrings were.)

Harry blinked slowly. "Come again?"

"I'm challenging you to a Quidditch match. Are you game?"

Ron shut his jaw, which had been hanging agape, with a loud snap. "Have you gone absolutely, stark-raving mad?"

"Malfoy," Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily, "don't you think we have more important priorities right now?"

Malfoy waved his hand dismissively, without really looking at her. "Nothing is more important than this."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, eyes aflame. "Nothing?" She said this in a deliberately low, husky voice.

Draco stopped his staring contest with Potter to glance at Hermione and did a quick double take. She was fingering the buttons of her shirt lazily. And was that… an invitation in her eyes? Merlin. My luck has the worst sense of timing imaginable.

Harry sighed, tearing Draco's thoughts and eyes away from Hermione and forcing down the sudden, incredibly strong desire to jump up and toss Hermione over his shoulder and whisk her away to the Room of Requirements and lock them in for at least a week with nothing but a huge bed and a bathtub full of chocolate pudding.

"Malfoy, as much as I would like to kick your arse around the pitch, I don't think that now is the time." Harry said dutifully.

"Afraid I'll beat you?"

"Malfoy, you have never beaten me," Harry scoffed, "I could out-fly you even if it is your lucky day."

"Prove it."

"I have. Many, many times."

Draco raised one, perfectly supercilious eyebrow. Leaning back in his chair, he raised his arms over his head he drawled casually, "Potter, I think that you're covering for something. I think that you just can't perform anymore."

"Come again?"

"Can't perform. Is impotent. Shooting blanks. His wanker is palsied. Is completely worthless as a Man."

Harry leapt from his chair, knocking it backwards violently. Glaring at Draco, he slapped his hands on the table with a loud BAM in front of the sneering blond.

"We're on, Malfoy."

Hermione watched this unfold in dismay. "Harry, be serious. It's not worth it!"

"Oh, it's worth it Hermione. He insulted my honor, my ability, and, most importantly, my virility. No one says I can't perform and lives."

Draco smirked gleefully.


Twilight, The Quidditch Pitch:

It was mayhem.

There were students running, walking, flying, and in one special case bouncing, everywhere. (Hagrid accidentally told a curious Gryffindor about the match, and it went steadily downhill from there.) The stands were packed, cheering wildly at the unprecedented pleasure of seeing their teachers beat the ever-loving shit out of each other.

Hermione scowled darkly. She felt like the only sober person among a bunch of football hooligans whose team had won in a miraculous turn-around match, and they were all having a pint in a china shop. And she had just been given the oh-so-envious task of making sure they didn't break anything.

The idea, in theory, was simple. Harry, Luna and Ron were on one team, and Draco, Pansy and Neville made up the other.

However, in actual practice, the match was an absolute disaster. Whilst Draco and Harry were racing for the Snitch, Ron certainly wasn't trying to tend goal, or bat away Bludgers, but was instead chasing Neville. Neville, in return, was avoiding Ron with all of his limited skill resulting in him getting in the way of the other players. Pansy was chasing Draco, Harry, Ron, or whoever caught her fancy at the moment. Luna, unconcerned as always, was flying in large loops, certainly not doing anything productive with the Quaffle she held.

In short, it was possibly the most disorganized, delirious, and dangerous Quidditch match ever held in the history of the sport.

Hermione watched, heart in her throat, as Harry and Draco performed insane maneuvers in an effort to out-do each other, and still catch the Snitch. She bit her lip viciously as a rogue Bludger careened in front of Harry, and he pulled up short, almost knocking Draco off of his broom.

Merlin, please let them get through this alive!

Hermione heard Draco's hoarse, delighted laughter, and her face twisted sourly. On the other hand, perhaps I should let them all die.

Bludgers were whizzing everywhere, and no one could really figure out who was winning, even Teddy Lupin, who was serving as the makeshift announcer.

It was the most bizarre and terrifying Quidditch match Hermione had ever seen.

Hermione switched from her lips to now viciously biting her fingernails as she frantically sifted the probabilities for death or dismemberment through her mind. For the fifth time since they started this senseless match, she put a Sonorous charm on her voice and told them to cease this nonsense, and for the fifth time, the players ignored her.

Ginny, who had been in the Infirmary, darted toward the pitch, crimson hair whipping into a frenzy around her.

"Ginny!" Hermione ran to her, pointing to the chaos in the sky. "I don't know what to do. They're not listening to me, and it's only a matter of time before someone gets hurt!"

Ginny's face hardened as she took in the scene, eyes narrowed and lips pursed in true Molly Weasley fashion.

"Nothing for it then," Ginny harrumphed, "Acting like a bloody bunch of children, they are."

Ginny proficientlyAccioed two brooms and shoved one at Hermione, while kicking herself off the ground expertly.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and she promptly dropped the thing as if it was hotter than Draco's arse in leather Quidditch trousers. She paused… she might not have dropped it if it was that hot… She shook her head distractedly. This is not the time Granger…

"Come on, Hermione, we have to stop them from killing themselves!"

Hermione watched her fly away, and then stared at the thing in horror. A few more looks at the thing, and then at Ginny's rapidly shrinking form confirmed that:

This was not some nightmarish fantasy her subconscious cooked up.

She really was next to one of those… things.

Ginny was really expecting her to get on it and spring into the melee hundreds of feet in the air… And finally that-

She was going to die.

Paling visibly and closing her eyes tightly, Hermione tentatively mounted. Instantly, as if sensing her inexperience, the broom started to spin around in uncontrolled circles.

Hyperventilating, she gathered her courage and opened her eyes.

She was three feet off the ground.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione stilled her trembling hands and got her broom under control with a tremendous act of will. She looked up and saw Ginny was having no luck in stopping this foolhardy exercise whatsoever. Draco and Harry, it appeared, were still hell-bent on winning this stupid contest or killing each other. (Which, at the moment, seemed synonymous.)

"I can do this." Hermione took a deep breath, and started to climb higher in the air, making sure she didn't look down. "I am invincible today." She shook her head and began muttering darkly to herself, "So I haven't ridden a broom since first year." She pursed her lips and continued climbing, gaining more height and speed as she went and tried desperately to ignore the very noticeable hysterical note in her voice. " It's no big deal. Absolutely not… Just like riding a bicycle."

Except that riding a bicycle won't lead to FALLING TO MY DEATH!

Hermione groaned quietly and began chanting softly under her breath, as if warding off something infinitely evil, "Today is the luckiest day of my life. Today is the luckiest day of my life…"

She gained elevation, until she was hundreds of feet off the ground, and in the thick of the match. Slightly nauseous, she stared straight ahead and tried to forget that a tiny charmed piece of wood was the only thing between her and certain doom. Hermione squared her shoulders and turned to steer her way towards the only sane person in the air.

Ginny had grabbed a beater's bat from the ineffective Ron, and was grimly smashing the Bludgers away from the oblivious players.

Hermione flew level with her for a moment and yelled, "GINNY, WHAT SHOULD I DO?"

Ginny gritted her teeth and slammed an offending Bludger towards the Forbidden Forest, saving Pansy from being whacked in the head. "I'LL WORK ON MY IDIOT HUSBAND. YOU WORK ON MALFOY!" She yelled back.

Hermione saluted smartly, and flew precariously over to the other end of the pitch where Draco was currently darting around. Miraculously, she was able to catch him at a relatively still moment, and caught his attention with her frantic arm gestures.

Draco grinned at her manically as he scanned the sky for glints of gold. "ISN'T THIS GREAT?"

Hermione thought her expression said it all, but apparently Draco thought she approved of this madness because he sent her a mega-watt smile.


Draco kept scanning the sky.

Stupid man. Ignore me indeed! Hermione thought irritably, and slowly shifted her broom so she was directly in front of his, blocking his view of the pitch. "GET DOWN, YOU CONCEITED BAST…"

"… WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?" Draco interrupted, eyes shining.

Hermione stopped her broom with a wide swooping motion and looked at him in disbelief, her hair whipping into her face. "ARE YOU INSANE!?!"



Draco opened his mouth to shout a reply that yes; this was an appropriate venue (Really, who didn't love the Quidditch pitch?) when he caught a glint of gold out of the corner of his eye.

In a flash, he was after it.

Hermione decided that the curse words she in her vocabulary were too tame to be used to describe her frustration.

Draco focused in on his target, that gleaming glint of gold that teased him, barely aware of Potter on his left or of the ground rushing towards him. Gripping his broom tightly with his left hand, he milked out any last ounces of speed.

He stretched his hand and begged the Powers that Be. Please oh please…. A few more inches… Let me beat Potter, just this once…


Hermione landed (Not very gracefully, but in one piece, thank Merlin) and rushed up to the pile of brooms, men and dirt, trying to see if there was anything left of the two idiots. Draco sat up, uninjured, having miraculously landed on Harry instead of his face. (Harry was Not Pleased to say the least, but was Not Dead, which Pleased his wife.)

Neville crashed to the ground, long, floppy ears obscuring his eyes. Shaking himself off briskly, he ran to the accident. "Is everyone alright?" Seeing that everyone was relatively uninjured, he sighed in relief.

Ron landed just behind Neville and rushed to the scene, but completely ignored the two groaning men on the ground. Instead he flung his arms tightly around a shocked Neville and cried, "Nev, are you alright? I saw that crash and I was so worried!"

"Is that your hand on my arse?" Neville asked, whiskers trembling furiously.

"Do you like it?"

Neville broke out of the embrace, and shouted, livid, "No!"

Ron crossed his arms peevishly. "Why are you letting societal conventions stand in the way of our love?"

"I've put up with this long enough," Neville said furiously, "Get away from me, Ron! I. Do. Not. Love. You."

Ron's big blue eyes started to look a tad misty, (He wasn't crying, mind you. Real Men don't cry.) and Neville rolled his eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake. You'll be absolutely mortified when you're back to normal, you know."

Luna and Ginny landed nearby without ceremony took one look at the situation between Ron and Neville and decided, silently and unanimously, that they Didn't Want To Know.

Luna sighed, looking nothing so much like an escapee from Bedlam with her clothing askew and wild hair. "I'm so happy for Draco!"

Harry frowned sourly, Draco's foot still obscuring his eyes. "You were on my team Luna."

Luna shrugged.

In the meantime, Draco looked at the Snitch in his hand in awe, and then looked at the disgruntled Boy-Who-Wasn't-So-Hot-Now who was lying beneath him and a broad, cocky grin spread across his face. Potter promptly shoved Malfoy off of him and rolled to get up.

Draco completely ignored him. His eyes were glued to his prize… and then it hit him.


Pissed-off Scarhead.


Really pissed-off Scarhead.

"I … won."

Draco's face went absolutely luminous at the realization.

He started laughing hysterically, pointing at Harry and ribbing for all he was worth. "The glorious Potter's reign has ended! Long live King Malfoy!"

"You cheated." Harry mumbled.

"Cheating is a perfectly acceptable way to win," Pansy said, sidling up to Harry. (Surreptitiously trying to figure out how to feel up that leather encased arse without getting hexed by Mrs. Boy-Who-Lived.) "In fact, it's incredibly sexy."

Harry blinked.

"Slytherins are just so… weird."

"I won!"

"Yes, Draco, you won," Hermione said patiently, as if to a small child. "Can we go to the castle now? It's rather cold outside and we have quite a mess to clean up still."

Draco scooped a startled Hermione up, and twirled her in time to his victory dance. Dizzy and elated, Draco slowed letting her small, curvy body slide down his larger, harder one. Her eyes, so stern when he'd first picked her up, had melted into pools of dark chocolate. Her face was flushed from the wind and arousal, and her hair was a wild tangle of curls around her face and back. The mere sight of her tumbled disarray and smoldering look made Draco's heart start to beat wildly.

It was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her.

Their lips met hungrily, desperately and instantly they were completely lost to the crowd around them. Draco snatched her up immediately, pulling her close to him and wrapping his arms possessively around her. Hermione responded likewise, twining the fingers of one hand tightly into his sweaty Quidditch robes to keep him against her and the other finding its way to Draco's hair, getting lost in its thickness and tugging his head this way and that, until she found the perfect angle in which to dart her tongue more fully into his mouth. They both groaned, their bodies straining to get closer as their tongues danced, traced and swirled together, totally, utterly entranced with each other.

It was a kiss born of spontaneity, of passion, of mutual regard… and perhaps something more.

Feeling the need to breathe, Hermione and Draco pulled apart slowly, stealing small, languid kisses, not being able to break away from each other, smiling giddily. "And now for the spoils of my triumph," Draco whispered on Hermione's lips as he leaned in for another kiss, eyes shining.

Neville coughed politely.

(Ron worriedly asked him if he was feeling ill, and if he needed to go to the Infirmary? Or if he needed some soup, or perhaps a potion? Neville cringed and tried to sidle away from his clingy shadow. Ron followed.)

Harry was tapping his forefinger on his lips thoughtfully. "Does anyone remember who took bets for kissing on the Quidditch Pitch?"

Luna sighed, "Isn't it wonderful? Crookshanks and I always knew they were meant to be together."

Draco grinned, and tightened his hold on Hermione. "It seems we have an audience."

Hermione peered over his shoulder and flushed crimson. Hundreds of curious eyes looked back. "A very large one."

"Let's take this elsewhere, shall we?"

Hermione nodded vigorously. "Let's."

Ron's Love Potion chose that moment to wear off. He blinked rapidly, and assessed his current position wrapped around one Neville Longbottom, who, to Ron's horror, currently looked like a very large variety of English Lop. "What am I doing?"

He looked at Neville, and then at Draco's smirking face. Memories assailed him.

His agonized scream echoed across the pitch.


Around Midnight, In The Unendurable Agony of Humiliation (Which was Somewhere in the Hufflepuff Wing, Obviously.)

"I can never show my face in public again."

"Oh, well. It's not so bad. You'll just have to marry Neville and make an honest bunny out of him."

"That was uncalled for."

"True. But it was funny. This will give me fodder for years."

Ron groaned and scrubbed his face with his hands wearily. "I think I want to die. That's it. I'll go drown myself in the lake, and the squid will drag my unfortunate carcass to the depths, never to be seen again. Then you'll be sorry for teasing me."

"Oh, poor, poor Weasel. I feel absolutely wretched. Your life has been tainted, nay ruined, by this dreadful, horrid, despicable day."

"Parkinson, you don't understand. I was crushing on a bloke. All day. In public. My life is over. And when my brothers catch wind of this, I will never, ever know peace again."

"At least you didn't hit on everything with legs!"

"I was infatuated with Neville… when he was furry."

"True. But at least he was a bit attractive then. Those fuzzy ears were so cute!" Pansy looked at him slyly. "You said so yourself."

Ron turned a lovely shade of green.

Pansy scooted a bit closer to Ron, until she felt the heat coming off from his tall, lanky body. "You know, I may have a way to make this all blow over."

"How?" Ron said eagerly. "You can fix this? That would take a bloody miracle!"

"Welllll," Pansy drawled, while she toyed with a lock of her silky dark hair. "I don't know. I mean, your torment really means a lot to me…"

"Parkinson, if you have an idea, any idea, to get me out of this mess, I will be your slave for eternity."

Pansy looked sideways at his earnest blue eyes, and had to hide her smile. All too easy. Gryffindors are bloody fantastic! Why didn't I see the possibilities earlier?

"You see, my dear Ronald," She purred, her voice low and breathy, as her mouth crept closer to his, "We just need to create a scandal bigger than the one you inadvertently created by declaring your fondness for rodent amour."

Ron's eyes widened.

"That's bloody brilliant!" His brows suddenly drew down with confusion. "But how…?"

Pansy sighed dramatically, and one perfectly manicured hand crept up to tangle in his soft red hair. "What do you think of shotgun weddings?"


Sleepytime Time, The Infirmary:

At approximately the same time (That crazy-time before the ass-crack of dawn), the adult Potters were working on the last potion victim. (A poor Firsty who had ingested a strong dose of the Befuddlement Draught. Hopefully, the little one would stop thinking he was Dumbledore soon.) Most everyone had recovered, or was on their way to recovery, thank Merlin. McGonagall had finally woken up, had taken charge, and everything felt stable for the first time since breakfast.

"There." Ginny wearily lifted the covers over the unconscious student. "That should do it."

"Let's go to our quarters and…" Harry waggled his eyebrows. "… Relax a little."

"Harry," Ginny sighed, "how can you even think of that now? I'm just exhausted."


Ginny interrupted him, sternly. "Darling, our jobs take up so much of our time and energy. And today was almost a normal day! And with James, well, I think we're going to have to cut down a little on the… relaxation… for awhile."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm.

"Maybe I will take that Ministry job after all."


That Hazy Period In Which No Sane Person Is Awake, Hermione's Office:

Hermione and Draco sat in her office seated on a plush sofa in front of her fireplace, sharing a pot of tea and a midnight snack in uncomfortable silence. They both were bursting with things to say, but were hesitant to bare their souls. (One day, albeit fabulous, does not instant trust make.)

Hermione poured herself another cup of steaming white jasmine and gathered her courage. "Would you like a chocolate biscuit?" Wimp, her inner Gryffindor snarled. (It sounded scarily like McGonagall.)

"Yes, thank you." Draco replied politely, his inner Slytherin frantically spinning his mental wheels. Ah, well. Screw subtlety. Inner Slytherin cringing, he turned to Hermione and said, "We need to talk."

Hermione swallowed nervously. "I suppose we do."

Draco's fingers were tapping anxiously on his teacup, so he put it down. He scooted forward until their thighs were touching. He took a deep breath, and concentrated intently on the fire. Quietly, he said, "Granger, we've had the most ridiculous day, and while I think you know where I'm going with this, I need to say it anyway. I've been trying to convince you that in my estimation you are bloody amazing. I know you don't trust me completely, but we can work on that, and…"

"… Ask me properly," Hermione interrupted.

Draco's eyes shot up, and fixed on her serious, dark ones. "Really? You'll go out with me?"

Hermione lifted a brow superciliously, and took another sip of tea. "You certainly have an odd idea of properly asking a girl out."

"Right then…" Draco looked nervous, but his eyes locked on hers intently. "Granger, would please grant me the favor of your company for supper Friday evening?"

Hermione paused a moment, enjoying the uncertain expression on his face. (As it was so rare to see him this worked up, she took great pleasure in his nervous breakdown. His ego would be large enough after she gave him her answer.)

Her lips curved softly and she said, simply, "Yes."




"Yes. Do you want me to take it back?"

Draco leaned forward. "It's not just the Felix potion talking, is it?"

"When did you take it?"

"Around midnight."

Hermione looked at the clock on the wall and grinned. "Well, it's half-past, so your luck has run out."

He too glanced at the clock, his eyes sliding back to Hermione and he arched an elegant brow in challenge. "You think?" he asked in a husky whisper. "Let's see, shall we?" With that, Draco cupped Hermione's face in his hands and his lips swept down and captured hers. With a slight sigh, Hermione closed her eyes and fell into the tingly, heart-stopping, trembling, pretty much perfect, kiss.

"I'd say you're still lucky," Hermione panted, her hands roaming aimlessly on his muscular back. She tangled one hand in his silvery-blond hair and nuzzled his neck happily.

Suddenly, Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as Draco peppered her face with feather-light kisses. "Draco… Where did that box of potions go?"

"Don't know, certainly don't care."

He then proceeded to make Hermione not care as well.


The Extreme AM (Again), The Lake, Hogwarts Grounds:

A figure crept towards the Great Lake stealthily, like a jungle cat. Well, maybe it was more like a slightly overweight house cat. Okay, perhaps he wasn't sneaky like a cat at all, but he made his way down to the lake, encumbered by a huge box, without being caught. (This was sheer luck. He probably would have been caught red-handed if Filch was in true form, but luckily for the wrongdoer, Filch was snoozing off his long, hard day. Old age and all that.)

As the figure approached the great lake, he sped up, legs pumping furiously due to the great weight in his arms. Using his momentum, he heaved the large box into the lake and sank down to his knees as he watched it sink slowly into the water.

Teddy Lupin let out a trembling breath as the last bubbles broke the surface, relieved. Grinning, he got up from his crouch and skipped and tripped up the path to the castle with the resiliency of youth.

When he finally slammed the portrait of the Fat Lady behind him, he allowed himself a whoop of delighted laughter. He ran to the fireplace where three elated young faces beamed at him.

Fred Weasley, the leader of this new generation Marauders, shut the Marauder's Map closed with a brisk snap. Slapping Teddy on the back heartily, he motioned for him to join the intimate circle. "Well done, Lupin. You pulled it off! Almost got snagged, but distracting Malfoy with Professor Granger was bloody brilliant! "

Ian Finnagan pumped Teddy's hand fiercely and gave him a wide, gap-toothed smile. "Absolutely! How'd you get the Profs to go bloody bonkers at the end there, mate? That Quidditch match was the most wicked thing I've ever seen!"

Teddy blushed and shrugged modestly. (He really didn't want to admit sheer Dumb Luck had more to do with his success than actual Mischievous Talent.)

Victorie Weasley tossed her long blonde hair and sent Teddy a dazzling smile that left him somewhat dazed. "Marvelous job, Teddy! Did you get rid of the evidence?"

"Of course!"

"Fantastic," Fred said. Uncharacteristically solemn, he turned to Teddy. "Teddy, I want you to know that due to the enormous success of your prank, we've decided to let you into the Marauders. My dad gave me this map and told me that the best time of his life was when he used it with his brother to create the best pranks Hogwarts had ever seen."

Here, he grinned and turned to the other members. "I think we can do better!"

Fred raised his right hand and said, "Teddy, raise your right hand and repeat after us. 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.'"

Trembling with banked excitement, Teddy's hand shot up in the air. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good!" I'm a Marauder, Teddy thought in disbelief, Holy Merlin, I'm a Marauder!"

Grinning, laughing, and shrieking with happiness, the group celebrated until the first rays of dawn were sluggishly poking up form the horizon. Stomach hurting from too many pumpkin pasties, Victorie said her goodnight and dragged herself up the stairs to the girl's dormitory while the boys sluggishly made their way to bed.

"Welcome to the Marauders, kid," Fred said cheerfully as they climbed the stairs. "It's going to be a fantastic year. I already have some wicked ideas for pranks- we'll have loads of fun!"

Later, as Teddy was safely in bed listening to his roommates snore, he thought of the wild stories Harry had always told him of his Dad and his band of friends. He smiled wistfully and felt a welling of deep contentment pooling in the vicinity of his heart.

Mischief Managed,Teddy thought happily as he snuggled under the covers, and dreamed of adventure.


Recipent: Emm718


Would you prefer an art or fic gift? A fic.

Describe your ideal gift in as few words as possible (plus rating): Comedy, a bit of Drama, perhaps a who-done-it??? Oh yes. A wildly imaginative creation. Purdy please.

Dealbreakers (absolute no-no's): No character death. Must be nice to Ron and Pansy. Not too much angst. Oh and please, if in the case that you decide it is imperative that Draco and Hermione bump uglies, I don't want non-con, s&m, etc. Lets keep it respectful.