DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Between a Rock Wall and a Hard Spot

Hermione swung her bag onto her shoulder with a slight grunt - the thing got heavier every year - and headed for the classroom door. The hallway was the usual crush of people, some smaller, some bigger, all on their way to the next class. She flowed with the crowd, her eyes absent, her feet walking towards the Potions dungeon but her mind on her Arithmancy essay. The mass of students moved like rush-hour traffic, bottlenecking as two corridors intersected near the library and a main staircase. Peeves, with his canny sense of bad timing, swooped over noisily, throwing ink-filled balloons at the sitting ducks below and making very rude sounds very loudly. Students howled in dismay. The staircase picked this as the perfect time to move to a different location and the cacophony of exasperation swelled Through the tumult and the jostling, Hermione squeezed to the relative safety of the wall, her bag held in front of her protectively, and waited patiently for her chance to get through. Really, if everyone would simply file through quietly rather than shove and whinge, this would all be much quicker. Peeves spotted a gaggle of fourth year girls, choice prey indeed, and dive-bombed them in a masterly impression of a flying ace, complete with engine noises. The girls screeched, covered their heads with their book bags and shoved those near them to get out of the way. The crowd pushed out in all directions and Hermione was rudely elbowed, driving her backward. The nice soft body of the student behind her kept her from colliding with the wall and she heard a groan as someone's head knocked against rough-chiseled stone.

"Sorry," she murmured over her shoulder, trapped between the bulky bodies of a pair of seventh year boys and unable to turn to apologise properly. The students started jostling again - though Hermione couldn't see Peeves, his cackles of delight made it apparent that he had found fresh targets - and she was squeezed in a vise of seventh years on either side and a tight knot of first years straight ahead. She was rather tightly pressed up against the student behind her, for which she felt guilty, but there was really nothing for it but to wait. The body behind her was unidentifiable but so close that she could feel the crease of his slacks through her robes and his. Warm breath tickled her ear, grunting outward as the mass shoved her up against him once more.

"Sorry," she mumbled again. She couldn't budge an inch to give him more space and settled for patting his leg in a gesture of commiseration. The corridors were always so jammed in this spot on Tuesdays; last week it had been her up against the wall like that and with a first year's wand jabbing her kidney to boot. A strange finger moved along the nape of her neck, pulling her hair to one side - it must have been mashed up on his face, smothering him, poor bloke - and damp exhalations on her spine gave her involuntary shudders.

"Peeves!" With relief, for she had begun to fear she would never make it to the dungeons before class started, Hermione recognised the voice of Professor McGonagall. The stern-faced woman chased Peeves off with a few choice words and directed traffic briskly, and Hermione eased away from the fellow behind her at last. She glanced at her watch and sudden panic made her heart trip and stutter.

"Sorry again!" she shot behind her with the briefest glance backward. "Don't you hate this corridor?"

And with that she heaved her book bag to a more comfortable spot on her shoulder, hiked up the hem of her robes and flew off down the hallway. If she was really, really quick, she just might avoid detention with Snape.

Draco watched her go, rubbing his head absently where he had hit the wall, his expression a curious mixture of bemusement and annoyance. Though he hadn't moved, his cheeks were flushed and his breath was quick, as if from sudden unwanted exertion. The gold watch on his inside pocket buzzed at him - time for class - but on impulse he switched direction and made for the solitude of the boys' bathroom. Snape would just have to understand.