The Darkwood Wand

Stunned

She nodded. "We could meet in the Hufflepuff basement."

"We can't fix the clock in the common room," he pointed out. "Too many Pygmy Puffs bouncing about."

"Your bedroom, maybe," Hermione said without thinking.

Justin blinked. "That would be quite improper."

Hermione flushed. Of course. Her nights with Malfoy were playing hell with her moral standards.

Justin drew his wand and cast a quick Muffiliato. "Hermione," he said gently. "I am quite flattered by your interest."

"I wasn't—"

His fluting voice overrode hers. "But you must understand that as Head Boy I hold myself to a strict code of conduct with women."

"Of course," Hermione agreed, hoping to end the topic.

No such luck. "You must consider your reputation." Justin poured more butterbeer into his glass. "I know Gryffindors can be ... er, heated ... and impetuous." He eyed Pavarti, who was tucked into a window seat with Dean Thomas. Then he turned back to Hermione. "But we owe it to ourselves to control our baser instincts."

"Justin, that's fine," Hermione said. More than fine—she couldn't imagine why he was ever in the RAW. He really thought she wanted to seduce him in that creepy classroom? What kind of loon would do that?

"Hermione, I hope you will always count me as a friend, and I urge you to resist your very natural attraction to my ..."

"That's fine," Hermione repeated, annoyed. "I was just thinking of a secure place to meet."

She couldn't start anything up with Justin even if she wanted to. Not while she was in Malfoy's bed every night. Even if they weren't ... She felt her cheeks heating, thinking of that phantom kiss in the first-floor alcove.

Justin, of course, misinterpreted her blush. He was smirking behind his glass now, quite chuffed by what he saw as her clumsy attempt at seduction.

"I have an excellent book on proper wizarding courtship rituals, Hermione," he said. "I could loan it to you. It's a useful little holdover from Victorian times—the man properly takes the lead in such matters and I like to follow cultural mores whenever ..."

"Justin, for Merlin's sake—"

"I feel a moral imperative to offer the guidance you—"

"I don't need guidance!" Hermione heard a rustling beside her; her raised voice had upset the Cringing Vine, which was curling into its pot.

Justin gave her a rare smirk—quite un-Hufflepuff. "Then that lovely camellia in your hair is just a coincidence."

Hermione blinked. "That lovely what in my hair?"

"Forgive me, please." Justin brushed her curls with one hand, and came away holding a fat red flower.

"Don't be embarrassed, Hermione, it's very flattering," he said, handing it back to her. "But perhaps a bit forward. A daisy might have served you better."

"I didn't ..." Hermione began, then sighed and gave it up. She didn't know why she had a camellia blossom in her hair, but she had her suspicions, and honestly, weirder things had happened to her in this castle.

She put down her butterbeer. "It's getting late."

Justin took the hint and rose, setting his glass on a table and removing the Muffialito. Hermione barely stopped herself from grabbing the Head Boy's arm to drag him to the exit. Who knew what he would make of such harlot behavior.