Hidden in Plain Sight (Bubble Head Series Book 1)

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Articles

  1. Sunshine and Bullets
  2. Learning JavaScript Design Patterns
  3. 2. The Truest Capture
  4. 5 Signs of Spiritual Maturity…That Actually Show You Lack It

What are the effects of such predilections on political decision making? Although I first became aware of the myriad behavioral manifestations and implications of narcissism many years ago in a couple of undergraduate psychology classes in Abnormal Psychology at Stanford University, the profound and endemic clinical significance and prevalence of narcissism were reinforced when I later took the core classes in Psychiatry at the Stanford Medical School some years later.

I did not really think seriously about its application to the realm of international relations and foreign policy until much later, although I did write about what I believed to be its influence in the case of Edward Snowden, the former CIA employee and contractor who leaked classified information about United States surveillance programs.

The big surprise of this study, and our findings, was how endemic, powerful, and pervasive narcissism was across time and space, and how deeply its presence compromised any kind of rational or reasonable decision making, even or especially among powerful leaders. In the case of the Soviet Union failing to properly prepare for the German invasion in June despite adequate warning, the fault really lay at the feet of Soviet Leader Joseph Stalin, although his narcissism was certainly compounded by paranoia as well. In the case of their repeated failures to properly learn from past failings, General Douglas MacArthur and his coterie of sycophants, otherwise known as the Bataan Boys, refused, to their profound detriment, to accept any information which ran counter to the grandiose views of the master.

This kind of public humiliation would certainly be more than sufficient to inspire relentless opposition, as well as a desire to dominate and prove oneself superior to the accuser, on the part of a narcissist. More recent accusations directed at the FBI for placing spies in his campaign, and his exaggeration about the severity of such an offense, are equally striking for the preoccupation with his own self-image over any real concern regarding potential Russian interference in an American election.

Any leader who put country over party, much less self, would and should prove much more concerned about the potential for foreign interference in a domestic election, not least because of the harbinger such action portends regarding future interference, than attempts to uncover those who might leak or report on such investigations.

His tweets have amounted to little more than asserting that there has been no collusion, and attacking the media and the Justice Department for undertaking a witch hunt against him. Trump has now gone so far as to claim unprecedented presidential powers by having his lawyers argue that he cannot be guilty of obstruction because he has complete freedom of action over all Justice Department investigations.

In the realm of foreign policy, Trump cancelled the scheduled meeting with North Korean leader, Kim Jung Un, after it appeared that Kim might cancel on him. Standard international relations theory would predict and encourage an American president to allow the other side to cancel first, because this would upset the South Koreans and Chinese, and they would blame North Korea, whereas Trump cancelling upset those allies, including the European allies, producing unnecessary collateral damage.

Of course narcissists rarely act alone, and cannot attain their widest impact without the compliance and support of those sycophants who surround them. Sometimes such individuals simply want access to power, or believe that the leader will help facilitate other goals that are near and dear to their hearts. Those close to narcissists know that once they antagonize the narcissist, they will be ejected from their circle.

Narcissists cannot tolerate being told no, or being dominated, lectured to, or made to feel less than or inadequate to anyone else, no matter how important, skilled, or valuable the other person might be. In the case of a president like Trump, the examples of weak-kneed submission on the part of the Republicans in Congress are endless, with the consequence that an unusually large number of his supporters have decided not to run for office again, anticipating their own electoral defeats. Moreover, the casualties of his ire in his first months in office are myriad and seemingly unprecedented in number: Reince Preibus, Steve Bannon; Sean Spicer, Michael Flynn; H.

McMaster, Rex Tillerson; and so on. Ironically, of course, the immediate impact of narcissism is worst on those closest to the narcissist, who must constantly provide unrelenting approval and praise or be subject to unmitigated rage. Indeed, for the larger mass public, which is subject to the vagaries of narcissistic leadership, the consequences could prove much more dangerous and potentially lethal over time.

Narcissists are not driven by any genuine concern about the welfare of others; they care only for appearance. Neither are they driven by any true political ideology that would impose consistency on policy; they care only about approval. The real problems emerge because they cannot tolerate any information that puts them in a bad light, or points out any real limitations or deficiencies in their performance. I know that Fancy Nancy is supposed to introduce new words, but does audience really belong in a level 1 easy reader?

Sep 17, Christine Grant rated it really liked it Shelves: storytime. Bubble Story Time. Fancy Nancy and her friends are treated to a bubble show at school. When Bree is too sick to attend, Fancy Nancy comes up with a plan to share the bubble fun with Bree. Cute story that mostly held my preschoolers' interests. May 15, Joey Gremillion rated it it was amazing. Ooh La La! Fancy Nancy and her class are going to see The Bubble Show. What is Fancy Nancy and company to do??? Once again, O'Connor has created a wonderful story. Jun 10, Miss Sarah rated it really liked it Shelves: easy-reader , bubbles.

Nancy and her class are headed to a bubble show on field trip but one classmate can't make it. Can the class figure out a way to include her? Elemententary and up. Apr 29, Alexis Payne rated it it was amazing. Such a fun and informational book! I love all the vocabulary.

Apr 09, Holly Letson rated it it was ok Shelves: ebooks , standalones , secret-admirer , library-books , overdrive-books , series-books , audiobooks , read-online. I was unimpressed with this one. Mar 25, V. Trafton rated it it was amazing. Good book for beginner readers. Like the way the author explains meaning of more advanced words throughout story and recaps at back of book.

Besides what's not to love about bubbles! Mar 21, Jillian rated it liked it. Cute story with a sweet plot. Also here, it appears a letter drops down below the others— possibly either j, g or y. Not to mention that to sign their own name to falsified reports, our suspect would have to be the slowest broom in the shed. Harry marvelled at his friend. When they were eleven, Ron had talked of the pressure of being overshadowed by so many accomplished older brothers, but in his work as an Auror, Ron was overshadowed by no one.

With his analytical mind, he was entirely in his element. Before continuing, Ron paused, clearly deep in thought. He rubbed his jaw again. Procedure was not followed at all—there are no notes, no names, no dates—which made them stand out. But only an Auror would have had access to the reports. A little uncomfortable, Harry squirmed. A pretentious bore or not, one had to respect him for that. Likely over two years, as it was that long until reports of Malfoy being seen somewhere really trickled off.

Harry only got the file once. They are exactly as they were originally written. All of the reported sightings of Malfoy from this area were interfered with from the very beginning. That brings us back to the suspect having to be an Auror.

No one outside the department could ever have that kind of access to a case. Everything contradicts what everything else indicates. The work is thorough but sloppy and poorly planned out. Harry inhaled and shook his head as his hands closed into fists at his sides. The Auror in him was going to find the culprit and then turn away so the lover in him could eviscerate the bastard. This was a foolish choice of places to try to hide Draco. Not only is it very close to Wiltshire, but there are too many wizards about. Ron nodded his head in agreement.

Malfoy did not expect him to be found because he did not expect him to survive the attack. Calm, Harry knew he had to remain calm; it was the only way he was going to be of any help to Draco. Breathing deeply and slowly to maintain his composure, he forced himself to think as an Auror, dispassionate and objective. What would stop him? Sudden remorse? Compassion for his victim? Not likely. And why bother to Obliviate someone you intended to kill?

It made no sense. Remembering, Harry drew a long, slow breath. I had no idea he was in Ilfracombe when I chose it for holiday. She and her husband used to come here with Tonks when she was little. Catchpole are nearby. I thought maybe Molly and Arthur could pop over for a day or two, and I got tickets for Teddy and me to see the Chudley Cannons play. I planned to take him to the Exmoor National Park and take him flying.

Harry recalled his first thought had been to grab hold of Draco and apparate the three of them away from there right then and there. Let the Obliviators sort out the Muggles. Harry lowered his head, shaking it. I spoke to him yesterday and again this morning. A person may lose their memory for other reasons than memory charms. For example, a traumatic event or head injury could certainly have affected his memory.

Sunshine and Bullets

Draco could be suffering from amnesia and not a spell at all. His mouth had gone dry, and his fingers tightened around hers, his stomach clenching at the thought of Draco having been seriously injured, alone and unable to remember anything. That would disprove the amnesia theory, Harry hoped. Memory can be either wholly or partially lost, depending upon the extent of damage to the brain.

The memory loss may extend back only a few months, or decades could be lost—retrograde amnesia. But with retrograde amnesia, one may be perfectly capable of learning new skills. Aurors needed ministry permission before conducting any type of investigation involving Muggles in which magic might be required, and Kingsley gave his. Whoever the responsible party is, he or she has somehow been in a position to interfere with every reported sighting of Mr. Malfoy in this region of the country without anyone cottoning on.

We have to assume the suspect must have some way of monitoring any information that is reported to the Auror department. He or she has got away with a very high profile abduction for three years and likely feels safe after all this time, but if he were to learn Mr. Malfoy had been found, he could become dangerous.

Potter, how many people know where you were taking your holiday? A few others, but not many. Maybe half a dozen all told, maybe more if they mentioned it to someone. Harry had to admit what Kingsley said was true. Harry felt cold as the understanding that whoever had attacked Draco was someone he knew, someone he trusted, really hit home. One could not cast the Fidelius charm on a person or make a person unplottable, but Draco was as close as it was possible to come.

Learning JavaScript Design Patterns

The ground floor, which is partially underground, is a garage. The second through fourth floors appear to be flats. He must live in one of those. He left the building after the library closed last night and travelled about half a mile to a local restaurant before returning nearly two hours later. He remained there all night. Kingsley stood, excusing himself.

More likely, and more dangerous, questions might be asked between others, questions that might be asked to or overheard by the wrong person. Start with the local Muggle hospital and branch out if necessary. It may be that Ilfracombe is not where his attacker took him, but I think we can safely assume he was taken somewhere within Devon.

Check Muggle law enforcement as well, and report directly back to me. Tell no one outside this room. Just her, you, Ron and Hermione. Harry shook his head. Right now, the fewer people who know, the better. The suspect has some way of monitoring the investigation and has been a step ahead of us for three years. Whoever he or she is, they have connections. It is in Mr. Malfoy remain unaware for just a little while longer. Malfoy before she hexed him inside out for keeping her in the dark.

Three years was a long time. He could have found someone new. He might not want Harry anymore. Her eyebrows were pinched together as she stared across the room at nothing in particular. I was just thinking. It was difficult enough knowing that someone he interacted with casually everyday was behind the attack on Draco, but to think that someone from the D.

Harry felt cold. And sick. His stomach had dropped to his feet. Faces flew through his mind so fast he felt giddy. Zacharias Smith? Could he have. Zacharias was haughty, an arse and a coward—there was no arguing that. Harry would never forget the sight of him pushing terrified, crying first years out of the way in his rush to get out before the Battle of Hogwarts. Could he have continued to disapproved of Harry—of his friendship with Draco in particular?

Could he have waited for and seized the opportunity to strike? Marietta Edgecombe had betrayed the D. Could she have attacked Draco out of revenge on Harry, creating a false name with the initials D. While she had betrayed the D. Harry startled when Ron grabbed him by the shoulder, giving him a hard shake. Yeah, I know. It was written all over your face. Our suspect would not have taken steps to hide his identity and then given us a clue to identifying him.

Focus on what we know. We know where and when Malfoy was attacked. The focus had to be on opportunity. Hermione looked sheepish. It was just an idea that occurred to me. None of them could fault her for wanting to contribute.


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It had been the three of them as a team for so long, it was sometimes hard for one of them to remember the other two shared something that he or she did not. With Hermione, it was that Ron and Harry were Aurors and she was not. With Harry, it was that Hermione and Ron were a couple—a married couple now—and while they still often spent time together the three of the them, three was, occasionally, a crowd.

Weasley, this is your investigation. You know what you have to do. I will not have you taking the law into your own hands. Is that clear? Kingsley turned and dipped his head at Hermione by way of parting, and a moment later, he departed in a blaze of green flames. Speaking of incurable matchmakers. Exasperated, Draco tried to ignore her, but she was like a persistent little gnat bussing around his head and driving him mental. But the way Harry Potter had looked at him yesterday and again this morning was different from the way other men had looked at him.

There was an intensity behind those green eyes that struck Draco, made him feel both protected and exposed. And the constant pictures his brain kept providing of Harry Potter and himself in bed together— their arms around each other, their legs twisted together, the sheets kicked to the floor as they moved together—were causing other reactions in his body. Pressing his fingers to his temples, Draco tried to massage away the headache building inside his skull.

But, really, Draco—you should call him. He clearly wanted to you to. The way he looked at you! It was like. Next to him, Kat refused to let it go. Draco rubbed his forehead with shaking fingers. Was that what was happening to him? Draco drew a breath, calming the anxiety growing inside him.

A person simply could not fall in slow motion; logically, he knew that. It had truly happened. He was not imagining things. In the next moments, a welcome distraction arrived as a delivery man entered, pushing a cardboard box on a dolly toward the enquiries desk. Draco had been looking forward to this delivery all week, and now that it had finally arrived, it gave his mind something normal, something safe to focus on. The relief of something to root him firmly in the everyday and familiar was palpable. The Ilfracombe library had as ample a stock of all the latest bestselling fiction and non-fiction works, along with all the standard reference materials and periodicals, as any library of the same size in the country.

Their library had amassed an array of titles and authors not often found in a library of their size thanks to her extensive efforts. They were a library, not a museum. He loved the scent of old books, the old ink and leather covers, and could lose himself in the pursuit of antique books, searching online or scouring estate sales, used book stores, and auctions.

He could see himself one day with an enviable collection of his own: tall built in bookcases, shelves covered with original publications already old long before he was born. He could see himself sitting in a tall wingback chair in dark brown leather beside a roaring fire, two large dogs laying loyally at his feet, a glass of either port or sherry in one hand and.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut; his breathing felt erratic, and he gripped the edge of the enquiries counter tightly. What had started out as a distraction had ended as anything but. It was a memory. He could see the tall, dark brown leather wingback chair sitting beside an enormous fireplace—tall enough for a grown man to both stand up and lie down in—surrounded by an elaborately carved mantel of light-coloured stone. Beside the chair sat an ornate occasional table, and behind both the chair and table stood a large sideboard even more lavishly carved than the table.

On a wall covered with dark green silk hung a painting of a great manor home in a gilt frame. Atop the occasional table stood a carved crystal decanter half-filled with amber liquid and the most enormous and ugliest golden candelabra imaginable—the arms of which were snakes upon the heads of which stood tall taper candles. The man held a brandy snifter in one hand and an ancient-looking, small, leather bound book in the other.

The man bore a notable resemblance to Draco, and he knew with absolute certainty he was seeing—remembering—his father. Are you ill? Take these with a glass of water and put your head down for a little while. The entire scene had the air of formality, but that, Draco felt, was more due to the ostentatious grandeur of the room than to its inhabitants. Take away all the trappings and what was left was the scene of a father reading to his son as the child petted a dog.

His headache was fading as quickly has it had come, and Draco steepled his hands in front of his face, resting his head against his fingers.

2. The Truest Capture

The scene was one of a family with great wealth; there could be no doubt about that. Had he come from money, then? Why, then, had his father never come looking for him? Draco feared the answer. Had his father never found him because he himself had been a victim of the same attack? As it was, his clothing had still been damp from when the tide had come in, reaching him only enough to lap harmlessly at his unconscious form. Had his father been left on the beach as well, just those few feet closer to the sea?

And where was his mother? Had his mother been left widowed and childless? Was there anyone to take care of her? Was she alone? Had she never come looking for him because she believed him to be dead? Was she even still alive herself? Draco sat in the kitchenette for longer than he realised, and a concerned Kat eventually stuck her head in the door checking on him. Luv, you okay? What is it? He knew Kat well enough to know that she wanted to draw up a chair next to him and pull him into a hug, but they were the only two on today, and someone needed to ensure no one took advantage of a few moments free from the watchful eye of a librarian to run amok through the library, tearing pages from the books or speaking above a whisper.

Pushing himself away from the table, Draco forced the morbid thoughts from his mind. As he stepped passed her, her hand placed gently on his arm stopped him. Something is wrong. You can talk to me, you know. Giving her hand a light squeeze in appreciation, Draco replied. And I appreciate it. I do, truly. But not now, okay? Closing the door to the kitchenette behind him, Draco told himself the delivery was just what he needed to give his mind a rest from thoughts he did not want to dwell on.

Ron cut off the tirade he knew was coming before it could begin.

5 Signs of Spiritual Maturity…That Actually Show You Lack It

Someone you loved was abducted and has been missing for three years. No one could. Not this case. I have to. It was my fault. It was all my fault. All he wanted to do was stay home with his mother. Kingsley specifically asked him to attend to show that the survivors from both sides could live together, but the real reason he went was because I asked him to. Reluctantly, he compromised.

Why did you put all those protective spells on Malfoy? Hermione had reentered the room, a plate of bacon butties in her hand, remaining silently in the distance while Ron and Harry spoke, not wanting to interrupt. Now that Ron had left the room to shave before heading to the hospital, she stepped forward. Hoping to encourage him, she took a sandwich herself as she sat down. Now, as a Healer, she was as zealous as her parents in eating healthy. Has to do with the carbohydrates in the bread and the protein in the bacon, which breaks down into amino acids in your body.

Amino acids increase your neurotransmitters, giving you a clearer head. She set it down and repeated the spell on another report, once again studying the resulting copy. Hermione, what? Setting down a fourth report, Hermione sighed and shook her head. Quite dangerous, really, when one stops to think what could happen. Maybe I could see something in it. Harry deflated. It was unlikely the signature was important anyway. He was only there because I asked him to go.

Any words of encouragement she could offer would only sound patronizing to his ears, she feared. There were still a couple sandwiches on the plate, but he pushed them away. He has a job and seemed very friendly with his coworkers. Hullo, have we met? Besides, like Ron said, you really need to sleep. She startled and jumped up at the sight of him. Upon seeing the name on the file Harry had returned, the young witch opened her mouth to speak again, but Harry had already turned to leave.

His tone leaving no room to refuse, Harry acquiesced, following the older wizard into a room used for the interrogation of suspects. As she continued her climb up the street, she approached one of the numerous small hotels that dotted the street. Or possibly the entire olive tree, given their history. Draco had helped Harry heal after the war in ways none of them had been able to. It was the Arlington, which stood adjacent to the building housing the library, to which Hermione was headed, and upon reaching it, she turned into the car park in front of the hotel.

That would be the Repello Veneficus spell Harry had cast to repel any wizards or witches who might approach the building where Draco worked and lived. The feeling subsided. She could feel the hum of the remaining enchantments as she walked, but as she came as a friend, they allowed her to pass unhindered. The building housing the library was a five story brick building, the ground floor of which, an enclosed car park, was partially underground due to steep incline of the site. The car park was accessed through entry bays that were enclosed by iron gates in a decorative geometric pattern and painted a bright cobalt blue.

The ironwork continued to the first floor, framing four large semi-circular windows and was repeated in railings around the lower half of windows on the upper floors, creating the illusion of small balconies where there were none. The entrance to the library was just around the corner, sitting at street level.

Hermione paused before entering, trying to think of what she would say to Draco when she saw him. The windows went from the floor to nearly the ceiling, both providing a stunning view of the sea and flooding the library with natural light. It would be a lovely spot to sit with a book, but whilst the view of the sea was spectacular, the same could not be said the for the view the location offered of the rest of the library.

Beyond the seating area was the enquiries desk, at which a young woman sat working on a computer. To her right were two computers beneath a sign reading Self Service, and she walked to them. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see that the librarian had gone back to her work. Hermione tapped a few random keys on the keyboard and took a piece of the provided paper and a pencil, as if jotting down the information on a book she wanted. She wandered around, hoping she looked like a casual customer on her first visit rather than someone secretly planning to spend the afternoon spying on another person.

The library was a bright, open space divided into sections for various topics and ages without sacrificing the open flow by the use of seating arrangements, racks of books on casters which could be moved around as need, and pillars covered with shelves of books and magazines and various fliers and circulars in clear plastic stands. The fiction section was closest to the enquiries desk while still offering a good view of the rest of the library, and Hermione scanned the shelves before selecting a book and settling down in a chair facing the librarian going about her work.

By the spells Harry had cast on Draco, they knew he was still in the building, but whether he was in his flat or at work, they had no idea. She opened the book to the midway point, and though she flipped the pages at regular intervals, her eyes scanned the library. There was a good number of patrons here and there—too many for one single librarian? There are two of us on. My coworker is busy at present, but he should be back any moment. Hermione felt herself tense— he should be back any moment. She knew from personal experience how few male librarians there were.

The chances that a library of this size would have two were remote. On holiday? With my husband. What would a man due whilst on vacation that his wife would likely not join him for! Tried it once. Kept missing the ball and hitting the ground. At the sound of a door being opened only a moment later, Hermione looked up. She gasped, her mouth falling open. Draco looked in her direction, and his footsteps faltered. She saw him flinch and heard him suck in a ragged breath a moment before he looked abruptly away. In one hand he carried a small stack of rather old looking books; his free hand went to his head as if he either had a sudden headache or felt faint.

Hermione was not an Auror; she was a Healer, and Draco had gone in an instant from looking perfectly well to terribly ill. She was on her feet just as quickly; any worry on what she would say to him evaporated as she went into Healer-mode. Ready to kick herself for making such a stupid mistake, Hermione told herself to calm down. Oh, luv! Hermione felt her stomach plummet. Was Harry right? Had he found someone else to love during the last three years? Hermione wanted to draw her wand and cast a pain relieving charm on him, but they were drawing attention from other library patrons.

She would be seen. Not only was it a highly inappropriate question, but it was also one she worried she truly did not want the answer to. A poorly cast memory charm could fracture over time—particularly if given a strong enough catalyst—and the mind could begin to fight the charm, much the way Harry could fight off the Imperius curse.

Sudden headaches were a symptom of such an occurrence. The headaches would increase in severity the more the charm fractured and the victim began to remember. He turned to Kat and squeezed her hand. Hermione observed him. His voice sounded stronger, and the tension in his face had eased considerably. The headaches caused by a memory charm fracturing were very short in duration, the pain fading as rapidly as it had escalated. Tilting his head toward Hermione but not looking at her, he thanked her for her help and returned to his work, talking to Kat about the books in his hand—an Ann Radcliffe and a Dorothy L.

Over the next several minutes, neither Draco nor Kat looked back at her, but Hermione watched them over the top of her book carefully. That Draco seemed to have fully recovered from his sudden headache so quickly was exactly what one would expect were the headache caused by the fracturing of a poorly cast memory charm. If her suspicion was correct, more headaches would follow. The spell to relieve the pain from the headaches was not a complicated one, and, her wand hidden behind her book, Hermione cast it discreetly now that no eyes were on her.

That would temporarily protect Draco from more headaches, which was all she could do for him at the moment. Hermione worried. If her suspicion was correct, the headaches would become more intense as the memory spell continued to fracture. Although she knew a good deal about memory charms, she was by no means an expert. If her theory was correct, Draco needed to be seen by someone with far more experience than she had.

And the sooner, the better. While the seat Hermione had chosen offered a good view of the enquiries desk where both Draco and his coworker—she hoped the woman was nothing to him but a coworker and friend—sat, it was too far away to hear what was being said. Draco was speaking, his head barely turned an inch from the monitor in front of him.

What else did he say? Kat interrupted him. Pick one. Hermione had to restrain herself. She wanted to jump from the chair and pump her fist in the air. Though he refused to look in her direction, she held her stare, and sure enough, just like with Ron and Harry, Draco broke. It was odd to see Draco Malfoy interacting with a Muggle woman in such an easy, friendly way.

No , Hermione scolded herself. It was just that kind of thinking they all had to get over. He was clearly very reluctant to go on. Hermione thought Kat was someone she could grow to be friends with. Draco rubbed the back of his neck and risked a glance at Kat. That was as big a mistake as looking into the eyes of a basilisk. Sorry, this is just. How much plainer can he make it! The man wants you! Besides, what would Julian say? There were other patrons in the library, but she was the closest to them.

He is definitely something to look at. She felt like she had when Ron and her relationship had been in its infancy, overjoyed and breathlessly anticipating everything that was to come. At least Kat had lowered her voice. She did appear to glance in their direction quite often, but every time he looked, she seemed to be absorbed in her reading. A small number of people stood around her, looking on eagerly, gawking at her and taunting the poor woman.

Another woman stood above her, laughing an evil cackling laugh. She might have once been beautiful, the horrible cackling woman, but her face was twisted and made ugly by evil and hatred. The scene left Draco feeling sick and with a horrible sense of guilt and remorse settled in his gut. Had the woman sitting in the fiction section somehow reminded him of it? They had the same shade of hair and the same slim build. A medical student. Draco breathed a silent sigh of relief. If the woman was sneaking glances at them from behind her book, she was most likely keeping an eye out should his headache return, not because she was listening in to their conversation.

But his headache had gone as suddenly as it had come. He wanted to, there was no doubt about that. If anything, Draco worried he might want to ring the other man up too much. Before he could talk himself out of it, he punched the numbers into his mobile and waited, holding his breath, as he heard the phone ring on the other end. One ring, two rings. Should he hang up? Is that you? A smile slowly spread across his face.

Draco always had loved a little flattery, a little flirting. Harry sat down at the table, setting his phone down. When Ron returned, they had much to discuss. Seems a normal question to me. Her attention was solely on her book. I could never understand why men got so worked up over watching girl-on-girl. Then I saw two men snogging and groping each other in an alleyway.