Harry Potter and the Emerald Dragon

Title: Harry Potter and the Emerald Dragon (13/?)
Author: CPoe
Author email: [email protected]
Category: Romance, Adventure
Keywords: Harry, Emily, Hermione, Draco, Ron
Spoilers: All four books
Rating: R (to be on the safe side)
Summary: It's Harry's sixth year, and he meets a new girl that comes along with a lot of baggage. Romances are budding, confusion is all around, and the threesome's life is going to become a little hectic.

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.

Harry Potter and the Emerald Dragon

Chapter 13: The Plan

Harry stood in front of the frozen statue of Julius Caesar, having found himself subconsciously making his way to talk to Sirius instead of heading to lunch.

"Potions!" he said, watching as the stone figure quickly came to life.

"You again," the statue muttered, stepping to the side and lifting the lever.

Harry mumbled a quick, "thanks," before hurrying past the statue and to Prof. McGonagall's rooms. When he got to the door, he knocked hesitantly, unsure if Sirius would be there. He waited a few moments and then heard footsteps approaching from the other side of it.

"Who is it?" came McGonagall's voice. He hadn't been expecting her, and Harry was momentarily frozen with shock. His first instinct was to turn around and dart back down the hallway, but as soon as he began to move, the door swung open.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall exclaimed, taking in the sight of him.

"Hello, Professor, I didn't realize you'd be in. I came to talk to Sirius."

"Of course, come in. He's in the kitchen." Harry stepped into the foyer and followed his professor. "Sirius, you have a visitor." Harry watched as Sirius stuck his head around the corner of the kitchen, and smiled at him. "Have a seat at the table Harry. I was just on my way out to have lunch in the Great Hall." She grabbed her cloak, and headed back towards her door. Moments later, Harry heard it shut behind her.

"Hungry, Harry?" Sirius called from the kitchen.

"Er, yeah," Harry called back, sitting uncomfortably in the chair at the large dining room table.

"Good." Seconds later, Sirius appeared carrying two plates with generously portioned sandwiches on them. He placed one in front of Harry and the other at the seat opposite him. He quickly disappeared again, this time returning with a pitcher of red liquid.

"What's that?" Harry asked. The only things he'd ever drunken at Hogwarts were pumpkin juice and water. He wasn't sure if he'd trust most other wizarding drinks.

"It's bloodberry juice," Sirius responded, but added, after having seen Harry's look of distress, "Don't worry, no blood." Harry took the pitcher hesitantly, and poured himself a glass, but didn't drink it. "Go ahead, try it. You'll like it." Harry looked up at his godfather. "Just. Try. It." Harry brought the glass to his nose, smelling it. It doesn't smell so bad, he thought to himself. He swirled it around its glass. Doesn't look so bad. Finally, he took a deep breath and brought it to his lips, downing a quick swig of it. And then another swig. And then another, and another. Until, finally, the glass was empty. When Harry looked up at Sirius, he saw a smug look on the older man's face. "Told you you'd like it."

"What's this stuff called again?" Harry asked, pouring himself another glass.

"Bloodberry juice. The berries are a magical relative to cranberries."

"Magical?"

"Keeps you healthy. Boosts the immune system or something," Sirius replied, picking up his sandwich. "So, what's up?"

"I met with Emily," Harry replied, unable to hide the smile that spread across his face as he did so.

"Oh really?" Sirius said, giving Harry a knowing look. "I take it everything went well."

"Ginny was right. She was just pretending to hate me. But-" He trailed off.

"But what?"

"It's much worse then I thought. She's a Death Eater--initiated a few weeks ago."

"Oh."

"But she doesn't want to be. She had to. She doesn't have a choice. Even if she refuses, Voldemort can control her. Not like Imperius, worse then that. It's in whatever spell that gave her the powers. 'He who creates it can control it', or something like that."

"Oh."

"But she's back. I mean, she's talking to me and working with us. She also said she'd be willing to testify against her father."

"Did you explain to her what that meant?"

"She hates him, Sirius. He did this to her, and she hates him." Harry watched as Sirius' expression changed. "You're going to be free again."

"As happy as that makes me, I think there are more important issues that need to be faced first," Sirius said. "I spoke with Dumbledore and -"

"You WHAT?" Harry roared. "But you promised!"

"Relax," Sirius responded, taking a bite out of his sandwich and speaking with his mouth full, "I didn't tell him anything."

"Oh," Harry responded, feeling a little guilty for accusing Sirius.

"He asked to speak with me because he learned that the Death Eaters are planning something."

"Yeah, I know," Harry mumbled.

"I figured such. Dumbledore suspects you know more then you're telling him. I really think you should go and -"

"All Dumbledore is going to see is the daughter of Voldemort's most trusted servant with a Dark Mark on her arm. He's not going to be reasonable."

"Harry, this is Dumbledore you're talking about. When have you ever known him to be unreasonable? He is the most respected wizard of our time, and keeping things from him is a stupid and childish thing to do."

"I'm not scared," Harry suddenly found himself saying. Sirius simply shook his head.

"You should be," he mumbled, taking another bite of his sandwich. "You-know-who's not going to underestimate you again. He's regained his strength, Harry. He's not the same wizard you went up against all those other years."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, it's supposed to make you think," Sirius replied, placing his sandwich back onto the plate and looking up at Harry. "You're going about this all wrong. You're alienating the one man that can help you."

"Because he can't help me! I ask him questions and he gives me ambiguous answers. He treats me like I'm five. Expects me to save the world, and then doesn't think I can handle knowing stuff about the past."

"Is that what this is all about, the past?"

"No. It's about my being sick of being the boy who lived!" Harry barked.

"Would you rather be the boy who died?" Sirius roared back at him. "Fine. Go off and get yourself killed because you're too arrogant to seek help." Harry was speechless, completely and utterly speechless. His godfather had never spoken to him like that before. He stared at the man sitting opposite from him for a few moments, and then pushed his chair back, and stood up from the table. "Don't do this Harry," Sirius pleaded.

"I want this over and done with!" Harry snarled, shoving the chair back under the table. "Dumbledore is just going to baby me and prolong everything."

"He's trying to protect you."

"Well, maybe I'm sick of being protected!"

"Lily gave up her life to protect you. Don't make it all for nothing," Sirius mumbled in a voice Harry could just barely hear.

"Don't you EVER," Harry warned, slamming his hand down on the table, "talk about my mother like that."

"Your parents were the smartest witch and wizard of their generation--"

"Stop it!" Harry yelled.

"They were experts in their fields -"

"Stop!" Harry repeated, feeling as if his legs were about to give out on him.

"They did everything they felt possibly could be done to escape the Dark--"

"I said STOP IT!" Harry screamed at the top of his lungs. Sirius paused for a moment.

"And still, they were defeated," he continued, looking at Harry with piercing eyes. "I don't want the same thing to happen to you." Harry felt his legs go numb and he fell back into his chair. He was sure that his eyes were on the brink of tears, and he haphazardly began wiping at them with the sleeve of his robes. His anger towards Sirius quickly dissipated, to be replaced by the extreme emptiness he always felt when he thought about his parents. He propped his elbows up on the table, and let his face fall into his hands, closing his eyes. His mind was racing around what Sirius had said, replaying his words over and over. But soon Sirius' words turned into his last and only memories of his parents. Their screams to each other, his mothers pleading with Voldemort. He slid his hands up over his ears, but the cries in his head continued even louder then before, reverberating around like an echo in a canyon. Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!

"Harry?" came Sirius' voice as if from a far away place. Harry let his face fall through his hands, running his fingers through the back of his hair, and resting his forehead on the table. "Harry, are you all right?" Harry didn't respond. Silent tears were trailing down his face, but he didn't make any move to wipe them away. His entire body felt dead, as if his mind had somehow been removed from it. Moments later, Harry heard Sirius speaking to him again, but he didn't hear what he was saying. All he heard were his mother's screams. Not Harry! Please no, take me, kill me...

* * * *

After lunch, Hermione and Ron made their way out of the castle and down to Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures. They expected to meet Harry out there, but when they arrived, he was nowhere to be seen.

The class gathered in a spot off to the side of the hut, engaging in conversations with one another. Most of the Slytherins were huddled around Emily, who was talking about something or another, her audience captivated. Hermione noticed that Pansy was milling around on the outside of the Slytherin huddle, completely ignoring Emily.

She was about to point this out to Ron when she caught sight of Hagrid exiting his hut with two large cages dangling from his massive arms. She squinted her eyes to get a better look at what was inside the cages, expecting to see some sort of horrible looking creature with jaws that were half its body length. But instead, she saw several medium sized birds, ranging in color from pink to orange to lime green to yellow.

"Mornin'," Hagrid boomed as he approached the class. All conversations ceased and the students came to get a better look at the beautiful birds. Hermione noticed that Hagrid had a very proud look on his face as all the girls 'oohed' and 'aahed' over them. It was probably something of a novelty to him, having his students actually be interested in something they were learning about.

"Anyone here have a guess as ter what these here beauties are?" Hagrid asked, placing the cages on the ground so that everyone could get a closer look. Hermione raised her hand. "Hermione."

"They look like Fwoopers."

"Right ye are, Hermione. Jus' got here a few days ago. Shipped in from Africa." Hagrid then opened the door to one of the cages and held out his mammoth finger for one of the birds to jump onto. An orange one happily did so, and he brought the bird out. "Great pets, Fwoopers," Hagrid continued, stroking the bird's plumage fondly. "Always wanted one when I was a boy."

Pansy stepped closer to the cages, and then looked up at Hagrid. "What's wrong with them?" she asked.

"Nothin's wrong with 'em," Hagrid answered.

"But they aren't making any noise," she observed. "Birds always make noise."

"That's 'cause there's a silencing charm on 'em. Anyone know why?" Hermione raised her hand, but then noticed that Emily had done so faster. "Emily."

"Fwooper song can make the listener go crazy," she explained. "Though, I heard there was some crazy Brit who wanted to prove it was actually beneficial to your health. Listened to nothing but Fwooper song for well over a month. Afterward, he claimed he had proven himself to be correct, but when he showed up to present his findings, he wore nothing but this nasty dead badger on his head."

"Uric the Oddball," Hermione said once Emily had finished, approaching the cages. "He listened for three months exactly, without break."

"Show off," she head someone whisper from behind her. She causally glanced over her shoulder, and saw Draco stifling a laugh with his fellow Slytherins. Emily was doing the same, but Hermione could tell that it was forced. As their eyes met, she suddenly heard Emily's voice echo through her head.

Where's Harry? she asked.

I don't know, Hermione responded. She turned back around and busied herself with looking at the Fwoopers. I haven't seen him since before lunch.

Damn! Hermione resisted the urge to spin back around and see why Emily was so upset. Instead, she continued to study the birds.

I think he went to see Sirius, she responded, watching Pansy open one of the cages and put her hand inside to retrieve a bird. Did you want to tell him something?

I don't know if I can get away from Draco tonight, she responded. He wants me to help him with something or other concerning Muggle clothing. He mentioned something about being on a costume committee...

Oh that. It's for the Winter Ball.

Yeah, well, I didn't want Harry to think that I'm ditching him if I can't get away.

I can tell him, Hermione offered. She then realized that she had just offered to help Emily. She shuddered.

That would be great. Tell him I'm going to try but that if I can't, he shouldn't wait more then fifteen minutes.

* * * *

"How long has he been passed out like this?" Dumbledore asked, kneeling down next to Harry who was lying down on the guest bed of Prof. McGonagall's flat.

"Nearly an hour now," Sirius responded. "I think I pushed him too far."

"It had to be done." Dumbledore then reached out a hand and placed it on Harry's forehead. "Did he agree to speak with me?" Sirius shook his head. "What exactly were his reasons?" Sirius hesitated for a moment.

"He doesn't think you'll be reasonable," Sirius responded, watching as Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

"I was hoping it wouldn't have come to this." Dumbledore paused for a second, looking down at Harry with a mixture of emotions on his face. Then, Sirius watched as Dumbledore drew out his wand, said a few incantations, and then tapped Harry on his shoulder. A few moments passed, and Harry's eyes flashed open. He froze in place, taking in his surroundings.

"Do you know where you are?" Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded. Sirius saw Harry's eyes flicker towards him, and then darken. In a split second, Harry was on his feet.

"Harry," Sirius pleaded, recognizing immediately the hate that was emanating from Harry's darkened features. "Just allow us to explain."

"You told him," Harry accused. "He knows. I can tell that he knows."

"I've known for a while now, Harry," Dumbledore spoke, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Why don't you have a seat so we can speak rationally to each other." Harry's eyes darted around the room, and Sirius prepared himself to spring at the boy should he try to escape. But Harry made no such move. He simply sank back into the bed.

"You knew?" Harry asked weakly. Dumbledore nodded.

"I was hoping you would come to me of your own volition--"

"I didn't think you'd understand."

"Yes, Sirius mentioned that. I didn't realize how much pressure you were feeling. I never would have asked Sirius to take such extreme measures to convince you to speak with me if I had known." Harry's eyes flickered up to Sirius, and then back to Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry Harry," Sirius said, feeling like the worst person to have ever existed. I shouldn't have done that to him.

"There is something I must tell you, Harry, and I think that now is the time." Dumbledore waited for some sort of response from Harry, but Sirius noticed that Harry seemed beyond emotion at the moment. "It's about the question you asked me last year that I told you I could not answer." At this, Harry's eyes sprang up to meet Dumbledore's. "Your parents were fierce supporters for the Ministry in the times when Voldemort was still in power. They were not Aurors but, instead, were members of an underground circle of witches and wizards that dedicated their lives to the fight against evil. Your mother was gifted in charms, and she developed quite a few that helped us detect the presence of dark magic. Your father was one of the brightest wizards I ever knew, and he worked in just about every aspect of operations." Sirius, who already knew all of this, sat down in a chair, not once taking his eyes off of Harry. He was afraid that this would be too much, especially after what had happened earlier. But Harry seemed to be absorbing it well, though Sirius was sure that his emotions were securely blocked off from outside view.

"There was a prophecy that we had been aware of for many years. It would spring up in almost every aspect of divination. Tea leaves, astrological charts, orbs. No matter how the question was asked, the same answer always returned: Voldemort would be defeated by the son of his enemies, a son born on the last day of July, one year before the date when the sun, moon and earth are aligned. Our calculations told us that the next solar eclipse was set to occur on July 31 of the year 1981, therefore the prophecy spoke of a boy born on July 31^st, 1980. As the day approached, we all started frantically searching for a woman who was pregnant that could possibly give birth to a child fitting that description. All the maternity wards in the wizarding hospitals were alerted. We wanted the names of every child born on that day." Dumbledore stopped talking, and looked over at Sirius.

"We hadn't even considered Lily," Sirius said, finally looking away from Harry. "She wasn't due for another three weeks."

"But..." Harry gasped. Dumbledore resumed his story.

"She was working with a team of Aurors that day, investigating a series of attacks that had happened the evening before. Your mother routinely worked on investigations such as these, discerning whether the attacks were Death-Eater related, and quite often was able to pinpoint a particular attack by a specific Death Eater using their magical signature. However, these attacks were rather brutal, most of them occurring at Muggle shelters housing pregnant women and several others at wizarding practices that provided services to pregnant witches. As the day wore on, the Aurors noticed that Lily wasn't looking well. She insisted that she was just a little tired and that the hot summer weather was bothering her, that was all. She was sweating profusely, but still she insisted she was fine and that she wanted to continue. So far, every single location they had checked out that day showed significant traces of dark magic, and Lily owled James to tell him that she suspected that the Dark Lord was trying to kill as many pregnant women in an attempt to prevent the birth of the son that would defeat him. When James told me about the raids, and of Lily's suspicions, I called an emergency meeting. Before this, we had thought that Voldemort was unaware of the prophecy, and this new turn of events made it even more imperative that we find the child before Voldemort did. James returned Lily's owl, telling her about the meeting, and she owled him back saying she'd be there as soon as she could, she had just one more location to visit. The meeting started and finished, but Lily never showed. Your father owled her several times, but received no response."

"James was beside himself with fear," Sirius cut in, feeling the need to relate this part of the story to Harry. "I was at the meeting, and I don't think he once took his eyes off the empty seat next to him, if not for just a moment to glance up at the door whenever it opened. He would excuse himself every few minutes to send off an owl, and by the time the meeting was over, he was frantic. He approached me immediately, saying something must be wrong for Lily to have not shown at the meeting. We contacted the Aurors she had been working with that day, who told us that she had left nearly three hours ago, but that she decided to take a Muggle taxi because she didn't feel so well and wasn't sure if she was fit for apparating. The last location they had visited turned out to be the worst of them all, a Muggle maternity ward where thirty pregnant women and their doctors had been murdered. The Aurors said that Lily hadn't even been able to perform any of her spells, that she had walked in and frozen in place, and that, moments later, she said she had to leave immediately. She looked worse then she had all day long, but she continued to insist that she was fine and hurriedly ran off to find a taxi. James nearly hexed the Auror he was talking to for his allowing Lily to leave if she looked so bloody terrible, but in the end he relented and focused his anger into his search for Lily. It took us nearly four hours to finally find her. The taxi driver had taken her to a Muggle hospital after she had passed out in the back of his cab."

"Your mother had gone into shock," Dumbledore took over. "The doctors there didn't think they'd be able to save both you and your mother if they didn't operate soon. So, they performed a cesarean. You were born before James even made it to the hospital, at 11:30pm." Harry swallowed hard.

"So I w-was....it was m-me..." he stammered.

"We didn't want to think about it at first," Sirius said, knowing exactly what Harry was trying to say. "No one mentioned the prophecy the entire week that your mother was in the hospital with you. Even after she was allowed to return home, she skirted the subject. No one knew about you. We were going to keep your true birth date a secret; we decided to keep Lily hidden until the day she was originally supposed to give birth, and James told everyone that she wasn't feeling so well, and that she was required to remain in bed until she gave birth. Only our closest friends...." Sirius was unable to continue. He knew that Wormtail must have been the one to run off and tell Voldemort that Lily Potter had given birth to a son on the exact date given in the prophecy. His wife, Rachel, had also been pregnant at the time, and Peter had been oh-so-cooperative with arranging times when Rachel could come by and take care of Lily and little Harry while James had to go off to work. At the time, they had all been so grateful. Everyone was pitching in to help out. A few months had gone by, and Rachel gave birth to Emily. That was when everything had started to go downhill.

Sirius was vaguely aware that Dumbledore had taken up the story where he had left off, but he was suddenly lost in the memories that started to flood back to him as clear as day. Rachel had given birth at home after Peter had insisted that he didn't trust modern mediwizardry. Everyone thought it irrational of him, but Rachel gave in to his ranting. Peter had seemed very distant for the weeks before Emily was born. "Probably just paternal stress," James had said when Sirius had brought up the subject of their friends odd behavior. It made sense, Wormtail was the last person they had ever expected to become a father.

But after Emily was born, Peter seemed to snap out of it. He became the proud father of a health baby girl, and protected her with everything he had. They joked that he had become a paranoid parent, but he shrugged it off saying that one could never be too careful. Though, in hindsight, Sirius realized that he was really just protecting his investment with the dark lord.

Rachel, on the other hand, was another story, entirely. She practically rejected Emily, and refused to care for her. Emily hadn't exactly been the most pleasant baby to care for; she'd wake up at every hour of the night screaming and would never calm down, generally. But still, Rachel's behavior was worrisome. They'd all encouraged her to see a doctor, but Peter wouldn't hear of it. He instead planned elaborate evenings out where Sirius would take care of the kids, and Peter, Rachel, Lily and James would have a night out on the town. Every time, Lily and James would return saying how difficult it was to be in the same room with the two of them. They fought over everything, and their marriage was quickly failing. Rachel wasn't very close with anyone ... except Remus. Remus was the only person she'd talk to. They'd talk for hours, Remus essentially taking care of Emily while Rachel cried. But whenever Sirius and James approached him about what she'd say when they were together, he'd reply that she didn't say much and that she refused to answer most of his questions. James was instantly suspicious, 'They were in there for three hours, how in bloody hell can Mooney claim she told him nothing!', he would say. Even Sirius began to agree.

And then, one day, Rachel took Emily and left. It was fall, around the end of September, and James, Sirius, Lily, Remus and Harry were outside in the back at Godric's Hollow, having dinner, when Peter suddenly apparated to the table. He was livid, and instantly lunged at Remus, demanding to know where Rachel was and where she had taken Emily. It took them a while, but Sirius and James managed to get Peter off Remus long enough for Remus to choke out that he had no clue what he was talking about. Moments later, an owl arrived for Lily. She looked at the letter, and collapsed back into her chair, handing it over to James who showed it to Sirius. Sirius would never forget what the letter had said:

Dear Lily,

You are in danger. The Dark Lord knows about Harry. I should have told you sooner, but I couldn't. I dare not say more, but escape now and beware of those who claim to be your friends! He wanted to use us, which is why we have left. Do heed my warning; I assure you that I am not unstable and that I am thinking rationally for the first time in almost a year.

-Rachel.

Remus had moved in closer, to read the letter, but James snatched it away as soon as he saw him do so. Everyone had instantly decided that the "he" that Rachel was referring to was Mooney. They had been so blind...

"Sirius?" The words knocked Sirius out of his memories. He looked up and saw Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder. "Would you mind making something for Harry to eat? I suspect he's already missed dinner in the great hall." Dinner? The word raced through Sirius' mind and he lifted his hand to glance at his watch. It's hand pointed at a spot between the 7- and 8-hour marks.

"I hadn't realized it was so late," Sirius mumbled, looking up from his watch and nearly giving himself a heart attack. He had been so absorbed in his memories; he hadn't been paying attention to Harry's reaction to what Dumbledore had told him. Harry looked like he had been struck by an emotional freight-train. His eyes were red and watery, streaks of dried tears clung to his cheeks, and he had to sniffle in order to clear his pink nose. He looks awful! Sirius thought, staring at his godson. But then he realized, at least he hadn't collapsed from shock like he had done earlier. Upon reflection, Sirius decided that Harry was actually taking this all quite well.

"Why did you trust her to be in the castle?" Harry asked.

"Our initial intention for allowing her to come here was to lure her father. She came to my office to be sorted, and I instantly knew she was very, very powerful. I must admit it took me a fair amount of time to finally realize that she was the Emerald Dragon. Embarrassingly long, in fact. And by that time, you two had become close. I noticed that she was sitting with you during meals and -"

"But why -"

"Because she can help you Harry," Dumbledore responded. "You need to allow her to help you."

"But she can't go up against Voldemort, she told me that herself."

"You will be the one to face Voldemort, but she can still help you." Harry seemed to accept this without further questioning, and stood up from the bed. Sirius stood up also, and followed Harry out of the room.

* * * *

Emily walked swiftly though the stone walled hallways of Slytherin, making her way towards Draco's room. When she got there, she stood outside the door, staring at the silver plaque that adorned it. "Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prefect," it read. He was probably inside, poring over some schoolbook, thinking that Emily was his friend, someone that he could trust. She didn't know why these thoughts kept flying into her head lately. And she certainly didn't know where the guilt had come from. But she felt it. She felt it seep into her whenever she was around him. But why should I feel guilty? she asked herself.

She wasn't sure how long she had been standing in front of his door when it suddenly opened. He was standing in front of her. It's Draco, she told herself as she stared at him. He's going to be a Death Eater.

"I was just about to go get you," Draco said, apparently unsurprised to see her standing there. She didn't reply, she just continued to look at him. It's Draco, she told herself again. Just Draco. "Are you okay?" he asked, peering at her closely. "You've got a strange look on your face."

"I was just thinking," she responded, sweeping past him and into his room. It was as clean as it always was. Spotless. She went over to his desk chair, and sank down into it, swiveling around to face him. Draco was still standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorknob, and eyeing her suspiciously. "So, what's all this costume business about?"

"Oh, right," he said, looking a little startled at her abrupt jump into the topic. "I'm on the costume committee for the winter ball and I have to come up with a list of suitable attire for the dress code."

"Dress code?"

"They don't want people coming dressed in typical wizard attire," he said offhandedly, taking a seat on his bed and grabbing his bag. He ruffled through it for a few moments, and then looked up, looking beyond her and at the books that sat in a neat pile on his desk. "Can you hand me my folder? It's the green one with the silver dragon on the cover." Emily turned around and shuffled through the pile, thinking that it was appropriate for him to have a folder with a silver dragon on it. She finally found the one he had described, and threw it to him. "Thanks," he mumbled, picking it up and looking though it. He finally produced a sheet of parchment. "I have to come up with, and I quote, 'a list of garments that would be appropriate to wear at a typical Muggle gathering, both men and women.' "

"And they picked you to do this?" Emily asked, finding that very hard to believe.

"Guess they think I have keen fashion sense," he answered, pulling a blank piece of parchment out of his bag and scribbling something down onto it with his self-inking quill. "So, where do you want to begin, men or women?"

"What kind of stuff are you looking for? Do students even have clothes that would be appropriate?"

"That's the second part of my assignment," he said, again picking up the sheet of paper he had retrieved from the folder. "Create a list of spells that can be used to transfigure wizarding clothes into their Muggle counterparts."

"So, what do you need help with?" she asked, not understanding why he'd asked for her assistance.

"Er..." he began, looking up from his parchment. "Everything."

"Everything?"

"Well, I don't know what a stupid Muggle would wear to a ball."

"Oh, right. For a moment there I forgot who I was talking to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that it's pathetic that you're so ignorant about Muggle culture," she responded.

"I'm a wizard. I'm not supposed to know about Muggle culture."

"And yet, I'm a witch, and I do. So, who's the one at the disadvantage here?"

"Fine. Men or women?" he asked, not looking up and holding his quill at the ready on the page.

"Men," she responded. "Is this a formal thing or just a party?"

"Formal."

"Then, suit and tie. Suit should be a jacket and pants. Dark colors. Blue. Black. Grey. No elaborate patterns." As she spoke, he scribbled information onto the page. "White collared shirt. Or, no. Doesn't have to be white. Can be blue too. Just no patterns. Tie can be anything." He continued to scribble, and Emily could see that he was creating a list.

"No robes? Not even a cloak or something?"

"Definitely no robes," she answered. "Unless you want people to think you're gay."

"Gay?"

"No straight guy in his right mind would wear a cloak."

"Hmm, I'll have to keep that in mind if I ever find myself in Muggle London." He then turned back to his parchment. "What about the women?"

"Girls can wear whatever they want," she responded. With this, he looked up at her again.

"Whatever?" he asked.

"Girls have much more freedom. Dresses and skirts. Any fabric. Any color. Just no wizarding robes." He scrawled it down as she spoke. She watched him write, keenly aware of the guilt that was slowly creeping though her body. Go away! She screamed in her head, trying to fend off the feeling. "So, what's the ball going to be like?"

"No magic at all," he responded with a note of disgust in his voice. "They've got Muggle music and decorations. Everyone's essentially going to be a Muggle for the evening."

"Sounds like fun," Emily responded.

"Fun? More like torture." Emily rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't be so negative. You just might realize that Muggles aren't as dumb and stupid as you think they are."

"I doubt it," he responded, finishing up what he was writing and putting his parchment back into his bag.

"Aren't you even the least bit curious about how the other half lives?" She asked.

"Not really," he answered offhandedly. Typical Draco.

"So, as fashion coordinator," she teased, relaxing in her chair and watching his face screw-up onto itself at the title she had given him, "what are you going to wear?"

"I haven't thought about it."

"Well, I'd suggest a dark gray suit," she began, eyeing his features and coloring, "with a bright blue collared shirt," she continued, "and a...hm...black tie."

"Bright blue?"

"Yeah. It's sort of the fad at the moment back home. You'll look spiffy."

"Spiffy? Do I want to look spiffy?"

"Nice, okay? You'll look nice."

"And what are you going to wear."

"Don't know. Sort of depends on what my date's gonna wear."

"Your date?"

"Yeah, well. I've always done this thing where I sort of coordinate my outfit to match whatever my date wears." He gave her a strange look. "I know, I know. How backwards of me to be so submissive and girlie. But, I think it's fun. And it always looks great! The first two years that I went to the senior prom, I coordinated my outfit and everyone kept saying how great we looked as a couple."

"You've been to more then one senior prom?"

"Well, my first year I was a freshman. That wasn't very much fun because I didn't really know anyone and my date was a real jerk. The second year I went with Roger, who I was going out with at the time and I knew all his friends so I had a blast. Last year, I was supposed to go with Brian, but we broke up a week before the prom. But, David Epson asked me, like, the next day to go with him. So, I said yes, more to get back at Brian then anything else, but that's another story. I didn't really have time to coordinate my outfit on such short notice so we didn't match at all. In fact, we clashed horribly." She looked over at Draco, and noticed that he had a glazed over look in his eyes. "But whatever, doesn't really matter." He sat there, not saying anything, and then, quite suddenly, he spoke.

"How old are you?"

"Uh, what?" She asked. Where did that come from?

"Aren't there four years in Muggle high schools?" she nodded. "And you just said that you were a freshman three years ago. Which means that you should be in seventh year here, right?"

"Oh, that," she said, finally understanding where the odd question had come from. "I'm a year ahead in Muggle schooling. That way, after I graduate normal school, I'll go for a year of all wizarding school, and still go to a Muggle college on time. It's what all of us in my after-school program are doing." He seemed to be following her logic in his head as she spoke, and then, he nodded.

"So, do you want to go to the ball with me?"

"Draco! What's with you and springing odd questions on me today?"

"Is that a yes, or will I have to go ask Pansy again?"

"Again?"

"I took her last time. Wasn't a very memorable evening."

"Nice to know you've put thought into asking me properly."

"Yeah, well. Don't push your luck. You want to go with me or not?"

Harry isn't going to like this very much, she thought to herself as she answered. "Sure."

"Good. So, since you know what I'm wearing, what are you going to wear?"

"Probably knee high boots with a patent leather mini and ripped tank top with gold shimmer on it," she replied, getting up from her chair and grabbing the bag she had placed down next to her. She then glanced back at Draco, whose mouth had dropped open in surprise. "I'm kidding, Draco."

"I knew that," he responded, quickly recollecting himself and steeling his face over again. "What are you really going to wear?"

"Draco, it takes days for girls to pick out their outfits. Don't you know anything?"

"You thought up something for me in milliseconds. Why the long thought process over what you're wearing?" To this, she simply shook her head.

"Because I have to look drop-dead-gorgeous. And you simply have to look presentable," she responded as she swung her bag over her head and started to leave the room. "I'll see you later, then," she added as she approached the door.

"More studying?" he asked.

"Eh, maybe. I'm tired, so whatever work I may get done tonight, it's going to be from the comforts of my bed."

"Goodnight then."

"'Night."

* * * * *

Ron watched as Hermione got up from her seat in front of the fire and walked over to one of the tables at the far side of the common room. She approached the three other fifth year Gryffindor boys, who were all involved in a raucous game of Exploding Snap. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he saw all three boys look up at her and shake their heads in response. Slowly, she turned back around, and walked back over to Ron.

"They don't know either?" Ron asked as Hermione took her seat again.

"Neville said he hasn't seen him since just after potions this morning," she answered. "And Dean and Seamus hadn't even noticed he was gone, and actually had the nerve to suggest asking you. As if I wouldn't have done that first off."

"Fred and George said they haven't seen him around either. I asked them after dinner."

"I just don't know where he could have disappeared to. There are only so many places he could have gone."

"We checked the library, right?"

"Twice."

"And you asked Hagrid after class if he'd heard anything of him, right?" She nodded. "I just checked up in our room a few minutes ago, so he hasn't been here all day."

"What about the Quidditch pitch?"

"Fred and George were out there earlier, they would have seen him. What about the hospital wing?"

"He would have told us if he was sick," Hermione answered.

"What if something happened, and he was taken there?" Ron asked, aware that this was probably not something Hermione wanted to consider.

"McGonagall would have told us after class if that were the case," Hermione said, sinking deeper into her chair. "And he's not off with Emily because she told me that she probably couldn't make it to see him tonight."

"When did she tell you that?" Ron asked, aware that his voice was slightly accusatory.

"During Care of Magical Creatures," she responded curtly.

"I didn't see you talk to her during class."

"Because we were talking telepathically." Oh, right. Like I was supposed to know they were talking telepathically.

"How come she never talks to me telepathically?" Ron mumbled. Hermione shifted on her side of the couch such that she was sitting sideways facing him, her left leg tucked under her, and a grin sneaking across her lips.

"Don't tell me you're jealous that she talks to Harry and me telepathically and not you," she said, nudging him with her hand.

"I'm not jealous," Ron retorted, though if he admitted it to himself, he was. He instead proceeded to pull on the threads that were hanging off the cuffs of his robes. "I'm just curious."

"It's nothing special you know," Hermione said, nudging him again to get his attention. He simply concentrated harder on the threads. "It's actually a little odd to have someone be able to read your thoughts."

"I wouldn't know, I've never had someone read my thoughts before," Ron mumbled in response.

"That's not true. I read your thoughts all the time."

"Really? Then what am I thinking right now?"

"Hmmm," Hermione said, scooting up closer to him and placing her hands on each side of his head and closing her eyes. "It's difficult...but I'm getting something...it's getting clearer...it's.....Quidditch."

"Nope."

"Dinner."

"Nope."

"Harry?"

"Er...not really."

"You're sure it's not Quidditch?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm, my mind-reading abilities seem to be a little off today."

"You don't say?" he replied, and then watched as Hermione opened one of her eyes to look at him and then quickly snap it shut again.

"You're thinking about me."

"You're getting warmer."

"You're thinking about," she took a deep breath and quickly exhaled it through her teeth, "how I almost beat you at chess the other night."

"Nope."

"You're thinking about how...you're going to ask me to the Winter Ball properly this year instead of throwing a fit when you're too late and I already have another date."

"Nope. But thanks for reminding me." At that, she opened up one of her eyes again, and scowled, before promptly shutting it.

"Can you at least give me a clue?" she asked with just a hint of frustration in her voice.

"He's thinking about how he wants to shag you senseless," came a voice from above Ron's head. Hermione's eyes flashed open and she leapt off the couch.

"Harry!" she gasped, and then, her features darkened and she slapped her hands on her hips. "How dare you say something like that! And where have you been all day?" she demanded. Ron leaned back and tilted his head up to look at Harry. But, as soon as he saw the shape Harry was in, he too leapt off the couch so he could properly face him.

"Harry, what happened?" he asked, taking in the sight of him. He looked like hell. His hair was even messier then it usually was and his eyes were pink with large bags underneath them.

"I had a bit of a rough day," he responded. "I'm fine now though." Ron looked over at Hermione, who had replaced her disciplinarian expression with that of worry.

"What happened?" she asked gently, leaning forward and kneeling onto the couch so she could get closer to him. Ron felt the usual tinges of jealously that crept through him whenever he watched Hermione try to comfort Harry. He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn't help it.

"Look, I'm fine. I really don't want to talk about it at the moment."

"Does it have to do with Emily?" she asked, her voice still gentle. Ron rolled his eyes. He just said he doesn't want to talk about it Hermione, just let him be.

"Not really...well sort of...but not her directly...but," And then Harry's expression froze, and he hastily brought up his arm to look at his watch. "Bloody hell, I completely forgot about Emily!"

"Well, she wanted me to tell you that she'd probably be late because she had to do something for Draco." At the mention of Draco's name, Harry's head snapped up from looking down at his watch. "She wasn't even sure if she'd be able to make it at all."

"I was supposed to meet her five minutes ago, do you think she'd still be there?" he asked, though it wasn't of anyone in particular. He just sort of threw the question out into the air. "Maybe," he answered himself. "She might still be there." He seemed to snap out of some sort of non-existent daze, and hurried out of the room.

"He gets stranger and stranger every day," Hermione observed, leaning into Ron and placing her head on his shoulder. He brought up his arm around her back, and slid it up and down.

"Yeah, I know."

* * * *

Harry was out of breath when he finally made it up the ladder and into the old divination room. Still panting, he looked around. It was empty. He glanced down at his watch, and realized that he was only about ten minutes late. She could still be coming, he told himself as he flopped down into one of the puffed chairs. Hermione said she might be late, so she could still be coming.

He leaned his head against the back of the chair, looking up at the ceiling, which was decorated in such a way that it was a virtual users guide to the galaxy. Harry instantly located the big dipper, and then Orion's belt. His eyes passed across the simulated sky, until they finally landed on Sirius. It glowed brightly against the black backdrop of the ceiling.

CLASH! BANG! CRUNCH!

Harry leapt off the chair, and spun around to face the noises. His right hand was firmly gripping his wand, which he was holding out in front of him. Having left the fireplace unlit, Harry had trouble seeing clearly in the darkened room. But, he could have sworn something was moving over in the corner.

"Emily?" he ventured, stepping over his chair and towards the moving heap on the floor. As he got closer, he was able to hear the array of colorful words that were spewing out of her mouth. "Emily, is that you?"

"I'm okay," she yelled, throwing a piece of shelving off of herself. "Just had a little navigational problem," she added, throwing yet another piece of shelving, and then slowly getting up onto her feet. "Nothing to worry about."

"What happened?" he asked as he watched her start brushing the dust off of her.

"I forgot about the shelf," she said, leaning forward and picking the two halves up off the ground. "You know, the one with all the tea-cups sitting on it." She held the two split pieces of wood together, causing them to fuse instantly, and then sent it flying back up onto the wall. "I apparated a little to close to it," she continued, looking down at the shattered teacups, which she sent flying back up onto the shelf, crack-free, with a wave of her hand. "That's better," she said, eyeing her work. She then turned her attention towards Harry. "Did I frighten you?" she asked, looking down at the wand, which he now realized he was still pointing at her.

"Nah," he lied, returning his wand to his pocket and flopping back down into the chair he was previously sitting in. "Why'd you apparate?"

"Cuz I can?" she answered smugly, but then added, "Well, actually, it was because it was the easiest way for me to get here without raising suspicion." He watched her walk over to him, and was suddenly keenly aware of the outfit she was wearing.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"Oh, these," she said, indicating her paisley boxer shorts and pink, spaghetti strapped tank top. "They're my pajamas."

"Oh," he said, though he still couldn't figure out why she was wearing them.

"I told Pansy I was going to bed, so I had to change into these to make it look like I was actually going to bed. Then, once I closed the curtains around my four-poster, I apparated here."

"Oh, now I get it," he responded, though he found that he couldn't take his eyes off of her; He'd never seen her with so few clothes on. She was standing in front of him now.

"You know," she said, reaching down and pushing up his chin with her hand so that he was looking at her face. "I'll allow you to ogle me only because you're my boyfriend. But honestly, Harry, could you at least try to be a little more discreet." He could tell that she was teasing him, but he still felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Right," he managed to say, making a mental note to kept his eyes on her face instead of allowing them to roam...lower.

"You don't look so good," she observed, sitting down sideways on the oversized pouf chair and throwing her legs up over his lap. "To be quite honest, you look like shit."

"Thank you for your honesty," Harry responded sarcastically.

"No, really Harry, what's wrong?" she asked.

"I had a rough day."

"That much is obvious," she responded, reaching up her hand and placing it behind his head, beginning to twirl it in his hair. "Why weren't you in Hagrid's class today?"

"I was talking to the headmaster."

"Oh," she responded. She stopped twirling his hair. "What about?"

"Mostly the past," he responded. "He knows about you."

"He does?" She was obviously surprised. "Are you sure? He didn't seem to know before and--"

"He's known for a while now. He thinks it's a good thing though."

"A good thing?"

"Well, all in all it's a bad thing. But, he thinks you can help me."

"Help you? But how? I can't go up against the--"

"He wasn't very specific about the 'how' aspect. But," he trailed off here, unsure if he should tell her or not. "Hermione has a plan."

"A plan? Is it any good?"

"Er...sort of."

"Why sort of? Aren't plan's either good or bad. They either work or they don't?"

"The plan itself is a good one I think. I just don't like it."

"What is it?"

"She, er, well..." Harry was looking directly at Emily. Her expression was one of interest, and he knew she'd instantly agree to it. But I can't let her do it, he told himself. It's too dangerous.

"Too dangerous? What do you mean, can't let me do it?"

"No reading my mind!"

"Well, you're being evasive. Just tell me and I won't have to!"

"Fine," Harry responded, steeling his resolve. "Here's the plan: we'll switch places for vacation. Or rather, not switch, more just that you'll become me. It's why Hermione was pushing the whole shape-shifting issue. Anyway, Hermione and Ginny are working on creating a locator charm, which you'll carry around with you. Then, when Voldemort kidnaps you, thinking he's kidnapping me, we'll follow, unnoticed, to wherever he takes you. They'll probably take your wand, but you don't really need it anyway so you won't be completely helpless. Hermione suspects that he'll be none the wiser about your true identity, and that when you finally reveal yourself, he'll be so thrown that we can catch him off guard and overtake him."

"So," she began, looking as if she was rolling over all the details of the plan in her head, "where will you be while I'm pretending to be you?"

"Hermione figures that they won't be able to get inside Gryffindor tower, so I'll be staying in there for all of break. You'll just be me on the outside. Oh, and Hermione needs to know if anyone else is staying in Slytherin over break, especially Draco."

"No one else is planning to stay, just me."

"Good, then you can stay with us in Gryffindor."

"But, won't people notice that I'm not around."

"Well, sometimes you can be yourself, but most of the time you'll be me."

"Hmm," she murmured, looking thoughtful again. She had resumed twirling her fingers through his hair, "Staying with you in Gryffindor certainly sounds appealing -"

"Emily, it's too dangerous."

"Harry, come on. I see why you'd be apprehensive, but you can't go playing the big hero all the time. Sit back, relax in your common room, and let me take some of the heat for once."

"Are you serious?" he asked, looking at her blankly. "It has nothing to do with a hero complex. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I know. But look, they don't now all the nifty things I can do. I can handle everyone but the Dark Lord, at which point you'll be there too, and Ron and Hermione and Ron's sister, what's her name, Jenny?"

"Ginny."

"Right. It's no more risky then just allowing Voldemort to come and get you! In the end, the situation's going to be the same. You, me, the Dark Lord, some abandoned house or castle, dark lighting, some scary music playing in the background--"

"This isn't funny you know."

"You get my point though. In the end, it's going to be the three of us alone. This way, at least, he will be the one at the disadvantage." Harry looked at her, and realized she was right.

"What if the locator charm doesn't work? What if we can't get to you? What if..."

"Harry, there are always going to be what ifs. I can always just apparate back to the castle you know. Of course, they'll be all shocked and suspicious if it comes to that, but it's always an out."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Good. So it's settled then."

"Settled?"

"Yeah. I'm staying with you over break, I'm getting myself abducted, we're gonna kick Voldie's ass, and then we'll come back and have a giant celebration."

"Did you just call him Voldie?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm sick of all this Dark Lord crap."

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked, eying her uneasily.

"Harry, it's a really good plan. I wish I thought of it myself; then, you wouldn't feel so guilty about it!"

"I just--"

"I know," she said, bringing her finger up to his mouth. "You just don't want to see me get hurt." He nodded. "I want to do this Harry. It's the least I can do."

"But I -" Harry began, trying to talk through her hand. She simply pressed harder on his lips and shook her head.

"No more talking about it," she said, shifting her position such that she was practically sitting in his lap. "And don't look so sullen."

"I just--"

"Uh, uh, uh," she said, her hand flying up over his mouth again. "No more. Finito. Topic closed." He sank down in his seat, wrapping his arms around her, and leaning his head back, defeated.

"Fine," he muttered.

"Now," she said, again changing position such that she was now straddling him and putting her hands on his shoulders. "There's something else we need to discuss."

"Er," he began, his mind completely going to mush as he realized she was on top of him. "What?"

"The ball."

"Oh, that. Hermione mentioned something about it, some sort of Muggle theme, sounds like fun."

"Yeah, well," he felt her take a very deep breath. "Draco asked me to go with him."

"What? Can he even do that? It hasn't even been announced to the whole school yet, and he's already asked you! It's just bad taste! Trying to monopolize his advantage as a prefect, going out and getting a date before everyone else even knows what's going on! And-"

"Harry," Emily said, cutting him off. He looked up at her, and she smiled. "You're babbling."

"Oh, right," he said, looking back down at...her breasts. Damn! he thought, quickly looking back up at Emily's face. She laughed and shook her head. "So what'd you say?"

"Well," she began, tilting her head to the side and looking overly apologetic for his likes. "I couldn't very well tell him I'd much rather go with you, now could I?"

"So you said yes?" She nodded. Harry's face fell.

"Harry, I didn't want to. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know. I just...I wish it wasn't Malfoy, that's all."

"He's not that bad you know?" she ventured with a little shrug of her shoulder. "I mean, yeah, he's pretty horrible to you, but I think it's just because he's had it ingrained in him to hate you since he was born. He's got this whole image thing going on, thinks he's got to be some big tough guy when really..." Emily stopped talking and looked down at Harry again, "You don't want to hear any of this, do you?" He shook his head. "Fine. I just wanted to tell you before you heard about it from someone else."

"Thanks, you know, for being so considerate," he said without even meaning to sound sarcastic.

"Don't be like that Harry," she said, trailing her hand down his cheek. He leaned into it, loving the way her touch made him feel. "I may be going to the ball with Draco, but he's not the one I think about all the time. Or the one I would have chosen to go to the ball with if this whole mess hadn't happened," she paused there, and then added, with a sly smile on her face, "Or the one that I'm currently straddling while wearing next to nothing."

"Hmm...I hadn't noticed," Harry responded, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist. "Next to nothing, eh?"

"Was that a joke I just heard come out of your mouth, Mr. Potter?" she asked in mock surprise. He smiled. "So does this mean you're okay with all of this."

"Okay? Yes. Thrilled? No."

"You know, you're pretty cute when you get all jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I'm just upset that my girlfriend is going to the winter ball with my archrival."

"And the difference would be?"

"There just is."

"Right," she said, sliding her hands up his chest and then around his neck. "So, what's a girl gotta do to get kissed around here?" She asked with a wicked smile.

"Er," he responded, again keenly aware that she was straddling him. "Not much."

"Good," she responded, leaning in and kissing him, but as soon as their lips met, Harry pulled away. "What is it?" she asked, looking puzzled.

"Just promise me that you won't kiss Malfoy," he answered, feeling the need to make that one stipulation concerning the winter ball.

"Fine. I won't kiss Malfoy. Happy now?"

"Yes."

* * * *