“Ooh, let’s see your gift for Malfoy, then!” Harry digs in the pocket of his work robes and holds it out to them, with an odd sinking feeling before she even says a word. Ron looks over her shoulder, raises his eyebrows, and then bites his lips to keep from smiling. It’s beyond obvious, and the sinking feeling sinks a little lower.
“Harry,” Hermione says carefully. “That’s a lovely gift. But I think the poem meant it to be more like… gemstones.”
“Gemstones?” Harry asks blankly. Ron’s turned away, but his shoulders are beginning to shake with laughter.
“You know, sapphires, or diamonds, or rubies. Something fancy.”
“But it said… it said ‘earth’!”
”Well, I think— I mean, it also said ‘finest treasure.’ Meaning something valuable. It also could have been gold, or silver,” she says. “Something mined from the earth.”
“But I did spruce it up! I hit it with, like, seven different beautification charms, and I painted it...” Harry trails off, grasping at straws now. He stares at the large irregular rock, carefully painted with green and silver.
“You painted it!” Ron howls from the corner.
“Fuck,” Harry says, closing the rock in his palm again and flopping down on the couch. “Fuck! Why am I such a bloody fool?”
“You’re not—“ Hermione begins but her protestations are rendered meaningless by the fact that she’s grinning and can’t say it with a straight face.