Blaise and Pansy sighed in very loud unison. "And we all know why, too," Pansy remarked.
Draco looked stubborn. "I don't like blonds."
Pansy looked like a woman who had heard this before, and who was now affectionately exasperated. "Draco, he did not steal the idea from you. You don't have blond copyrighted."
"Just because I have some intellectual pursuits, unlike other people who are complete brainless sports fanatics, also sitting at this table, their name rhymes with 'otter.'"
"I'm not a brainless sports fanatic," Harry corrected him. "I have a lot on my mind. This whole defeating evil thing is just something you've taken up: it's been my job since I was eleven. I don't have time for poetry."
"Because you have no soul," Draco said placidly, obviously reduced to a state of nirvana by all the coffee. He began to stir each cup, one by one. "I mean. One hobby. Besides Quidditch. Defeating evil does not count. Go on. Name one. I dare you."
"Er..." said Harry, and ate a spoonful of chocolate ice-cream to put off the evil moment. "I like, um. I collect Chocolate Frog cards!" he said with relief.
"So you two aren't going to get into another punching match."
"No," said Harry.
"Because Draco would win," Pansy put in, not quite under her breath.
"Harry would win," Ron corrected her in a low voice.
She made the spoon gesture again. "Bite me, Weasley, you oaf."
"Of course not," Draco answered Hermione airily. "A fight clears the air tremendously. Men do it all the time. And we are men. Manly men. Have you seen my hairbrush?"