Everyone had always said Ravenclaws were smarter.
It was four days after Christmas, and Lisa Turpin and Mandy Brocklehurst were compiling their annual list.
“All right,” Mandy calculated, carefully going over their account books, “that’s last place to Ron Weasley.”
“Just like last year,” Lisa remarked. “How many?”
“Er – two,” Mandy said.
“That’s impressive for Ron,” Lisa noted. “He’s only ever received one before.”
“Blaise – bless him – scored a naughty touch going off the Quidditch pitch, and he and Draco had another wrestling match.”
“Does being the recipient of a naughty touch count?” Lisa mused.
“It does unless you punch them,” Mandy said wisely. “But he blushed.”
Lisa looked thrilled. “Well well, Mr Weasley, maybe it was all just denial after all. Maybe the boy has hidden depths.”
She eyed Ron delightedly across the tables. Ron noticed and went bright red, reaching out for Hermione’s hand.
“Ew,” Lisa said, grimacing. “There’s no call for that kind of thing. And he thinks I fancy him now. Ew.”
“Give it up, that boy is a lost cause,” Mandy said. “Not so the gorgeous Draco, delight of our hearts, who is in first place with three hundred and eighty-seven points.”
“I love him,” Lisa declared with deep conviction.
She looked over at Draco, who was wearing Quidditch robes again because they had been relegated to practise right after dinner. She tried to inject admiration into her eyes.
Draco winked at her.
Lisa looked a little disappointed. “Maybe he just has chemistry with everything,” she said doubtfully. “I mean, let’s face it, I can’t see him touch his broomstick without having to go have a nice lie down.”
“Well, you know what they say,” Mandy remarked. “Twice the fun, half the conscience.”
“Half of nothing is still nothing, Mandy.”
“Works out well for Draco, doesn’t it?”
“Who’s in second place?” Lisa asked.
Mandy looked disgruntled. “Blaise Zabini. I mean, I’m not saying anything against Blaise, he clearly deserves a place of honour all his own, but it ruins our tradition. And it’s all because you gave him so many points for that stupid leather.”
Lisa gave a cry. “Don’t say a word against the leather!”
“I didn’t mean it, Lisa. I… just said it to hurt you.”
Lisa sighed contentedly and gave Blaise a leisurely once-over. He put down his fork, scowled horribly at her and moved his chair closer to Draco’s.
Very gratifying, Mandy was sure, but it just didn’t sit well with her. It was against all the proud traditions of W.I.G.S. They had always given the top spots to those who had inspired the foundation of Women Into Gay Subtext, and this break with the norm could mean a backlash.
They could be starting a barren year, filled with nothing but men fancying women! It was too awful to contemplate.
Besides, she liked these two. They were her favourites.
“Who’s number four?” Lisa inquired.
“Oh… Terry,” Mandy replied, abstracted.
“Our Terry?” Lisa squealed. She beamed at him. He looked back, blinked in a perplexed manner and returned to his book. She wriggled in glee. “I love a man with hidden depths.”
“Mmm,” Mandy agreed. “He was very interested when Draco came in after Harry hurled all that pumpkin juice at him. Do you remember? In his Quidditch gear? I thought those breeches were indecent before…”
“Yeees,” Lisa said. “But you know, that doesn’t necessarily mean gay. I mean, it could mean ‘not blind.’”
“Lisa,” Mandy admonished her sternly. “Have I ever led you wrong before? No, I don’t believe I have. I know what I’m talking about. Unlike some people, who pulled me around the entire school convinced that Percy Weasley was having it off in a secret love shack with Oliver Wood, and catapulted me into a room where he was kissing Penny Clearwater. Do you recall how many points we lost?”
Lisa pouted.
“I still can’t believe that boy is straight. His name is Percival! Percival!”
“There, there.”
“Six boys, and every one of them straight,” Lisa said wrathfully. “Mrs Weasley should be ashamed of herself. Ashamed.”
“Mrs Malfoy makes up for her,” Mandy soothed.
They both watched Draco, leaning close to Blaise and then leaning laughingly away, as Blaise watched him push his hair behind his ear.
“Oh, she must be a proud mother,” Lisa said tearfully. “Oh, if I could have a son like that!”
Draco got up at that point, casting them an amused and flirtatious look. They both gazed rapturously back, and hoped he’d wink at Blaise.
He didn’t, but as he was going out the door he walked right into Harry Potter, coming in late for dinner from Quidditch practise.
Lisa and Mandy squeaked and joined hands tightly.
“Ooooh, he’s all sweaty and there’s body contact!”
“Will you hush!”
“Watch it!” Draco snapped, and Harry shoved him against the door frame.
Draco’s head banged against it and he glared at Harry ferociously. Harry leaned in to glare just as furiously back.
Mandy wanted to take a picture of this, and make copies of it and put them in all of her schoolbooks. She wanted to memorise the blending of their red and green Quidditch robes, the heated gazes, the heads so close Harry’s dishevelled hair was touching Draco’s forehead and the line of Harry’s flushed throat as he leaned in, and the curve of Draco’s as he arched it back.
Lisa’s eyes darted up to the top of the door frame, and her grip almost broke Mandy’s hand.
“Mandy!” she said in an agonised squeak. “There’s mistletoe on that door!”
“I think,” Mandy said, very carefully, “I may die.”
“Bite me, Malfoy,” Harry said in his lowest voice.
Mandy became convinced that she was, in fact, dying.
Draco’s lip curled. “Blow me, Potter.”
They glared at each other for another moment, stretched screamingly long by the pressure of Lisa’s hand on Mandy’s.
Then they went their separate ways, banging shoulders hard as they passed.
Lisa lay back in her chair and fanned herself.
“I think we have a new second place,” Mandy said, trying to conceal her satisfaction.
Lisa could only nod weakly.
“Oh, I’m looking forward to this new year,” Mandy continued happily. “Every year those boys get more gay.”