The If Sieve

The rumour mill the next day said that Potter was fine but would be staying in the hospital wing for a couple of days -- Draco figured it must feel like a second home to him by this point and refused to think any more about it. Rumour also said that Granger and Weasley were as pleased about something as a pair of Kneazels in a cream bowl and that Weasley had developed a habit of punching the air and muttering, 'Take that, Snakeface.'

Meanwhile, Draco had thought of another If. Crabbe and Goyle gave him doubtful looks when he told them.

"Are you sure you don't want to ... give up?" Crabbe asked.

Draco glared.

"Right. Okay."

He wrote it carefully on a piece of parchment: If Draco Malfoy chose to go along to Harry Potter's meeting about a defence against the dark arts club, in their fifth year at Hogwarts.

The tilt as the sieve pulled him in was a familiar feeling by now.

If

"You can't tell me you aren't at least curious, Parkinson."

Draco blinked in the sudden sunlight and then hurried to catch up with the small knot of students who had already moved past him. Sieve Draco was still talking to Pansy. Crabbe and Goyle trailed behind.

"My father hasn't told me anything about ... you know, what happened, except that Potter was there. No matter how much of a git he is, you have to be as curious as I am about what he'll say about it."

Pansy was fidgeting with her prefect badge as she walked, twisting it over and over.

"Draco, we're going to be the only Slytherins. And you know what people are whispering: the idiot wants to set up some kind of personal militia or something. And Granger will be bossing everyone and trying to hint that it's in everyone's best interests to get down on one knee and swear fealty to Harry Potter. I don't want to go."

"Parkinson --"

Her voice was rising. "It's probably against school rules and I'll lose my prefect badge and you know that's the only reason my mother isn't still sulking about my marks. I don't know why I let you talk me into things."

"You said it would be fun!"

She scowled. "I wish I'd brought my girls."

They were in Hogsmeade, close to The Hog's Head. They turned into the side-street as Pansy spoke and she lapsed into silence. Then she made a determined sort of face, elaborately threw her arm around Draco's waist, and leaned into him. "Alright, I'm ready," she said.

Sieve Draco rolled his eyes and moved his arm to accommodate her. Watcher Draco noticed that he had to pause for a second on the threshold, though, before he had the nerve to enter.

Crabbe and Goyle followed.

It took a moment for Draco's eyes to adjust to the sudden gloom, lighted inadequately by grimy windows and dirty, rather evil-looking candle stubs on the tables. By the way the four fifth years had paused in front of him, he guessed they were adjusting too. Or maybe they were unnerved by the sudden silence and the press of gazes.

Apparently they were late.

There were about thirty students crowded into the tables on one side of the room, around Potter, Granger and Weasley. A couple were seventh years and there was a runty little Gryffindor who Draco thought would have been a third year at that stage, but most were fifth years like Sieve Draco -- and like Potter, of course. Granger had been talking when they came in, half-kneeling on her chair so that everybody could see her, but she trailed off as the door swung open and thirty odd pairs of eyes turned to Draco and the others.

Sieve Draco pasted a sneer onto his face and jerked his head at Crabbe and Goyle, who ploughed a path through the gaping students and turfed Finch-Fletchley, Macmillan, Abbott and Bones off their table. The Hufflepuffs scrambled back, still staring, and Draco and the others sat down. Draco put his polished shoes up on the table and leaned back with his arms behind his head.

"Do carry on, Granger," he said. "It sounds fascinating."

She shut her mouth with a snap and narrowed her eyes.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Her eyes strayed to Pansy and, impossibly, became even less friendly. "Parkinson," she added. Apparently Crabbe and Goyle weren't even worth acknowledging, which Watcher Draco found irked him.

Potter had got over his surprise too. He scraped his chair back and stood, his whole face a thundercloud.

"Yes, Malfoy," he said. "What are you doing here? Come to spy for Umbridge?"

"Harry, I told you, we're not breaking any rules," Granger murmured. Potter ignored her.

Sieve Draco raised his eyebrows and probably only Watcher Draco could see the tense line of his shoulders. It was difficult to keep up a relaxed sprawl when you wanted to leap to your feet and clench your fists. Draco generally didn't manage to keep it up very long but so far he was doing admirably.

"You're a bit thick, Potter," he said. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

Pansy flicked her hair back and sat up straighter, the line of her back a sharp contrast to Draco's sprawl beside her. "We want to hear whatever you're going to say, Potter," she said in a jagged, unpleasant voice. "Just get on with it, will you?"

Potter made outraged gulping noises.

"I'm not -- I wouldn't -- I'm not talking to Malfoy!"

"What do you think you're playing at, anyway?" Weasley demanded, red-faced. "You're not welcome here, so just shove off."

"Too bad." Draco gave him a stone-wall expression. "We're not going anywhere."

The rest of the students were getting over their surprise too, now, and beginning to whisper. Gryffindor's Diabolical Twins got to their feet at this point and gave Draco and the others ugly leers.

"We could throw you out," one of them offered.

"Look --" (Smith, this time, the Hufflepuff chaser) "-- can we get on with this? You're just stalling because you don't want to tell us anything, aren't you?"

Draco suspected his Sieve self would have been gleeful about the identical outraged expressions on Potter, Weasley and Granger's face, if he hadn't been so busy defending against all the hostility.

"Who are you?" Weasley demanded.

Smith raised his chin. "Zacharias Smith," he said. "And I want to know what evidence Granger was basing it on when she said You-Know-Who's back a minute ago."

"NOT UNTIL SOMEONE THROWS MALFOY OUT!" Potter shouted. Sieve Draco leaned back. Watcher Draco felt a stab of contempt as he saw the wary, frightened looks Granger and Weasley threw at Potter. Honestly, didn't they know to call him on it when he was being a prat?"

There was a moment's silence. Then, "Hey, we said we'd do it," the Weasley twin said.

Pansy was stiff with tension and darting accusatory looks at Draco. Who looked a lot less relaxed than he had. Crabbe looked stolid enough -- he was good at that -- but Goyle looked as though he wanted nothing more than to be out of that pub. Watcher Draco fumed on his Sieve self's behalf. God, the whole lot of them were wankers.

A placid voice spoke through the thickening tension. "You can't do that."

It took a moment for Draco to locate the source. His eyebrows rose. That crazy Ravenclaw girl from the year below him had stopped staring dreamily into space and was now staring dreamily at the Weasley twins.

"They're not doing anything," she explained. "Irrational anger attracts Wrackspurts, you know."

"She's right," Anthony Goldstein interrupted. "Er. Not about the Wrackspurts, necessarily --" he gave the crazy girl an apologetic look "-- but about Malfoy and the others not having done anything. If they just want to hear what you have to say, Harry, then they've as much right to be here as anybody else."

Watcher Draco remembered rather liking Goldstein at prefect meetings.

Sieve Draco threw Potter an insolent look and leaned back again. Watcher Draco saw him surreptitiously squeeze Pansy's arm. "So, you were saying?" he said.

Potter stared at him for a moment longer, anger still vibrating in every line of his body. Then he let his breath out in an explosive sigh and dropped back into his seat. "Fine," he said. "Brilliant. Great." He looked around the other students, stopping at Smith.

"You wanted to know what the proof is that Voldemort's back," he said. Watcher Draco suppressed the shiver that wanted to run through him, only marginally comforted that everybody in the If seemed just as discomforted. The Ravenclaw girl next to their house seeker actually slopped her drink onto herself.

Potter made a face. "And I suppose that's what the rest of you are here for, too," he said.

"No, Potter," Sieve Draco said. "It's because you're such an inspirational speaker. Just tell us what happened when Diggory died, would you?"

Potter's face twisted. "What, Daddy won't tell you?" he demanded. Draco whitened but Potter had already turned away. "Dumbledore told the whole school what happened," he said. "If you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

"Dumbledore told us nothing," Draco said. He sounded angry now, all pretence at relaxation dropped. "That the Dark Lord had you and Diggory in his power and it was the pureblood Hufflepuff he chose to kill? That's insane, Potter, even by Dumbledore's standards."

Potter went still. "You don't give a damn, Malfoy," he said, his voice low. "I remember what you said on the train last year. You don't care that he died, you just want details."

Draco remembered what he'd said on the train, too. God, he'd been so fucking confused. He'd raised his glass to Diggory at the feast (not to Potter, of course, because nobody could expect him to do that). He'd been sorry he died, with a kind of odd empty feeling in his stomach. He wasn't even sure why, since he'd never even talked to Diggory, but he supposed he'd felt some sort of connection to him after walking around with his name on a badge all year. And then he'd got his father's Owl that night, the one that had changed everything, telling him that he'd lied to him when he was growing up. That the Malfoys had been for You-Know-Who the first time round and they were again. Draco should be proud. His second rise would be glorious. The Malfoys would be great by his side.

There was no mention of what Dumbledore had told them, that You-Know-Who had just killed a boy Draco rather admired.

Sieve Draco shrugged. "Whatever."

Potter took a breath and turned to the others again.

"Cedric died because he was in the wrong place and I lived because I was lucky," he said. "That 's all. If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort kills someone I can't help you. I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, alright? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out."

The Ravenclaw girl beside Chang shifted in her seat but nobody moved to leave.

Granger cleared her throat. "So," she said, her voice a little higher than usual. "Does everybody, er, agree that we want to learn defence? Proper practical defence?"

There was a sort of shuffling as people dragged their attention away from the juicy conflict that had been unfolding and focused on the more mundane topic of defence against the dark arts.

"Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?" Bones asked Potter (from her new table with Abbott, Finch-Fletchley and Macmillan at the back of the crowd).

"Yeah," said Potter.

"A corporeal Patronus?" she asked, shaking her plait over her shoulder.

Potter frowned. "Er -- you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" he asked.

Watcher Draco rolled his eyes. Did he not even know her name? The Slytherins didn't share any classes with Hufflepuff but Draco at least knew his year-mates' names. And also, how was that question in the least relevant?

Bones just smiled, though. "She's my auntie," she said. And then, since it was obvious Potter didn't know (self-absorbed git), "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing."

Draco remembered the blank feeling when his father mentioned the hearing and the possibility that Potter might not be at school any more.

"So -- is it really true?" Bones asked. "You make a stag Patronus?"

"Yes."

There was a susurrus of interest.

"Blimey, Harry!" Lee Jordan gave an impressed whistle. "I never knew that!"

Watcher Draco wondered whether Jordan paid any attention at all when he commentated at matches, given that Potter had sent a huge silvery stag charging at Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Flint in the middle of a game in third year.

More people clamored questions now and Watcher Draco had to admit that it sounded an impressive list, totted up like that. Slaying a Basilisk (when he was twelve, honestly, who did that?), retrieving mystical stones, flying against dragons, rescuing friends from merpeople (although Draco wasn't sure that last one really counted. Merfolk were tetchy bastards, but they hadn't been threatening the champions. He knew; Bulstrode had enchanted a mirror so that the fourth year Slytherins could see what was going on under the water).

The last addition had come from Chang, with the result that Potter was now struggling between flushed and stuttering embarrassment and overwhelming smugness.

Watcher Draco was irritated. Had he ever been that obvious about liking someone? He didn't think so. The way Potter wore his emotions blazened across his face like that almost hurt to watch.

Or maybe it just contrasted too strongly with the glare of distrust he produced every time he noticed Sieve Draco.

Draco's Sieve self wasn't saying anything at all. He hadn't, Watcher Draco realised, since they left the topic of Diggory. Pansy leaned forward at his side, interested despite herself -- occasionally throwing in a snarky comment -- but Draco wasn't saying a word.

Potter was trying to be modest, now, and making a complete mess of it.

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" Smith demanded. Sieve Draco lifted his head and gave him an appreciative look.

Weasley told him to shut his mouth and both Dracos rolled their eyes.

Smith flushed. "Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it."

Draco had always known the Diabolical Twins were perverts. They pulled out a gleaming metal pronged stick and offered to insert it in one of Smith's orifices. Smith turned green and leaned back a little.

Pansy sniggered and whispered something to Draco, who smirked and mouthed the words "Not fussy" back at her.

Granger was trying to drag the conversation back out of the gutter.

"Yes, well, moving on," she said hastily, "the point is: are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?" She looked around, bright and expectant.

"Don't be stupid, Granger," Sieve Draco drawled.

People whose mouths had been open to say Yes closed them again in surprise.

Granger frowned. "Malfoy, you don't have to be involved," she said. "I'm sure we'd be glad if you weren't, actually."

He threw her a brief sneer and then looked at everyone else. "Look, yeah, I'm sure we'd all like to learn the Patronus charm --" his tone gave the impression that personally he thought Patronuses were kiddy stuff that nobody would really want to learn "-- and Potter can probably give everyone some tips on combat and fighting basilisks -- because we all know how often that comes up -- but you people can't seriously believe that he's the only one here with anything to teach?"

He looked around and a couple of people -- mostly Ravenclaws -- began to look a little thoughtful. He lifted his chin. "I know that there are techniques that only Slytherins know," he said. "And honestly, there are NEWT students here. Can't they teach the rest of us what they learned last year?"

"We did learn some neat hexes last year," the Gryffindor Quidditch captain said slowly. She nudged the girl next to her. "Didn't we, Alicia? All that defensive mirror magic? That could come in pretty handy if you were trying to confuse your opponent."

"Guest lecturers," Chang said suddenly. She smiled. "Every second or third lesson someone different could teach something only they know. Marietta and I did learn some good stuff for our OWLS last year." The curly-haired girl next to her shot her an alarmed look and immediately denied that she would ever stand up and teach anybody anything.

Chang waved a hand, unfussed. "Well, whatever," she said. "I'm sure there'd be enough people who'd be interested."

Potter was staring at her. He looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Then she gave him a starry-eyed smile and said, softly, "I still think Harry should be the main teacher, though. Nobody else has done what he has."

Potter's eyes glazed a little and he looked away, his cheeks flushed and his face immeasurably more cheerful.

Granger still looked doubtful. She kept shooting Draco distrustful little glances.

"Well, I ... I guess," she said. "I only really meant for it to be Harry when I thought of it ... but I guess if people ... really want ..." She trailed off and gave Potter a pleading look. "Uh, Harry?"

He waved his hand. "Sure, yeah," he said. "I don't think I want to learn anything that Malfoy could teach me, but if Angelina or whoever wants to teach sometimes, I don't mind." He was obviously still too pleased by Chang's compliment to really care.

Granger relaxed. She gave a bright smile. "Well, then," she said. "The next question is how often we do it."

Darkness faded in and Draco was sliding.

*

It felt like a longer slide than usual. Draco stumbled when he felt his feet touch solid ground again. He cracked his eyes open.

A wide room; mats and cushions scattered around the floor. He'd only seen it looking like this once -- when Umbridge had he and the others prowl around looking for clues after the broken up DA meeting -- but he recognised the Room of Requirement.

There was a familiar looking parchment with a list of names on the wall nearest to him. He took a few steps towards it until he could make out his own name about two thirds of the way down. It gave him an odd feeling.

Apparently the meeting was over, since people were drifting out of the opened door in twos and threes. Draco saw his own white-blond head over near the door, talking animatedly and with lots of sharp hand movements to Goldstein and Boot. Crabbe and Goyle stood in a huddle a few paces away, peering at something in Goyle's hand.

Sieve Draco shifted uncomfortably, one hand reaching to rub at the back of his neck as though he could feel somebody staring at him. A quick glance around told Watcher Draco who it was.

Weasley and Granger were bickering about something as Granger levitated cushions back to neat piles along the walls. Weasley was nominally helping her, although his cushions seemed for the most part to be bouncing along the floor, knocking Granger's off-course. Potter stood a little apart. He stared intently at Draco.

Watcher Draco followed his eyes back to his fifth year self, back to Potter again, trying to work out what he was thinking. He couldn't make out much from Potter's expression. A bit of a frown, but mostly it was just that intentness. That impression that Potter was so focused on Draco he didn't even know that his friends were arguing behind him, or that Granger had just halted the wild trajectory of one of Weasley's cushions an inch from the back of his head.

Draco finished talking to the Ravenclaw boys and drifted over to Crabbe and Goyle. He leaned over to see what they were looking at, one hand on Crabbe's back, and laughed.

Potter's frown deepened.

Crabbe straightened and said something and Draco's mouth twitched into a wicked grin. He ran a hand through the pale mess of fringe that had fallen into his eyes, probably tangled from the duelling practice they'd been doing. Potter followed the movement with his eyes.

Watcher Draco wondered whether he was aware he'd done that. Then he wondered why he'd even noticed. He frowned, turning back to the three Slytherin boys, and saw them catch up with Pansy and Bulstrode. All five headed towards the door.

Potter turned, caught another cushion as it barrelled towards him, and said something to Granger and Weasley. Granger stopped telling Weasley off long enough to give him a narrow look.

Potter was already gone, hurrying towards the door.

Watcher Draco followed him out of the room.

"Malfoy."

Pansy fell silent and Sieve Draco turned. He gave a bit of a nod -- not much, but enough to acknowledge him.

"Potter."

"I want to talk to you."

Pansy's lips twitched. "If you get invited to a slumber party without us, Draco, I'm going to be miffed."

Potter stared at her for a moment and then seemed to realise that he was still holding the soft cushion tucked under one arm. He flushed, bending to put it down against the wall of the corridor.

Sieve Draco rolled his eyes. "Shut it, Parkinson."

She flashed him a smile. "Well, come on then," she said, pulling a curious Bulstrode and a reluctant Crabbe and Goyle after her.

Sieve Draco sent a dark look after her, faint pink areas appearing on his cheeks. He leaned back against the corridor wall and gave Potter a questioning look.

"I --" Potter hesitated.

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"That wasn't a bad technique that Millicent Bulstrode showed us last week," Potter said finally.

Draco stared.

"The wand swish that makes it look like you're casting Protego when it's actually Petrificus Totalus, I mean."

"I, er, think she'd prefer it if you told her that yourself, you know," Draco said.

Potter went a bit red. "Er ..."

He flicked his wand a bit, not looking at Draco. Watcher Draco wondered if he knew how many wizards lost a finger fiddling with their wands like that.

"I do actually have a Charms essay to write," Draco said eventually.

"Yeah. Look ..." Potter looked up. "It -- I just don't get it, Malfoy. Why you're here and why ... I didn't think you'd come along last week; after I named your father in that interview. I thought you'd be furious."

Watcher Draco raised his eyebrows, working out the date. No wonder the slide had felt longer, if this much time had passed. That Quibbler interview had come out in February, just after the Valentine's Day Hogsmeade Weekend.

Sieve Draco scowled.

"I didn't like you dragging my father into that ridiculous magazine," he said. "I don't appreciate gossip about my family, especially not in some conspiracy rag alongside Cornelius Fudge's army of Wrackspurts or whatever it was Lovegood's father dreamed up."

Potter gave him a long look. "But you're not angry about what it was saying," he said. "That your father was there in the graveyard with Voldemort."

Draco hesitated. "Potter," he said. "Have I ever ... given you the impression ... that I wanted to keep father's connection to the Dark Lord secret? Because I have these memories of telling you several times that you'd chosen the losing side."

Potter didn't look angry. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, frustrated. "But Nott didn't come last week," he said. "Or this week either. And neither did Zabini and I didn't even name his father. I don't even know who his father is."

Sieve Draco's face twisted a little. "Nott sees things differently to me," he said.

Watcher Draco remembered the fight they'd had. Theo had been so upset about the interview. He'd almost been crying as he said: He made a mistake and he's trying so hard to protect Mother and me from the consequences of it. And now everyone will think of him as some kind of crawling Death Eater who just wants to kiss the Dark Lord's robes ... Draco had just been angry, so angry because it implicated Lucius, that crawling Death Eater. They'd not spoken for three days and Pansy had come close to hating Draco every time she saw them both in the common room, Nott's eyes shadowed and angry and scrunched up.

"Really," Potter said, when it became obvious Sieve Draco wasn't going to say anything more.

"I trust my father," Draco added. "Do you think I'd question him? Do you think my mother would support him if he'd made a mistake? I trust him."

"But he's wrong."

There wasn't even the shadow of a doubt on the fifth year Draco's face as he gave a superior smile and said, "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Potter."

Watcher Draco wanted to shake him.

It looked as though Potter wanted to shake him too, if the way he was grinding his teeth was indicative.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he demanded. "I don't get it. I don't get you. I always thought you just liked -- but the way you act with Crabbe and Goyle, like you're actually friends, I always thought because you talked to them like -- and the way you sounded when you mentioned your mother -- I don't get it. And I don't get why you're here, in the DA, if you're so sure your dad's on the right side."

Draco shook his head. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"How can you ask that?" Potter looked down and shook his head, shaggy fringe whipping like a dog with a bone. "It's called Dumbledore's Army. It's about learning to defend against Voldemort."

Draco winced. "I fought against that name," he said. Then he shrugged. "Anyway, it might be about some grand struggle against the Dark Lord for you, Potter, but for me it's just about not letting the rest of my OWL year learn duelling techniques without me."

There was an odd expression dawning on Potter's face; almost like wonder.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again; opened it once more. "It's not real for you at all, is it?" he asked. He shook his head, not needing an answer. "It's just ... you think it might not ever matter; you don't even take it seriously."

Sieve Draco looked uneasy. "What are you talking about?" Watcher Draco could tell how much he hated to ask the question.

"The war," Potter said. "With Voldemort. You're not ... it's been real for me for ever, since first year. But you've never seen any of the stuff I've seen. I always thought ... hell, Malfoy, I thought you understood."

"I understand plenty, Scarface."

"You don't." Potter looked inexplicably happy about this. "I always assumed you'd bought into the whole thing -- that you believed in it."

Draco gave him a wary look and Potter shrugged.

"I thought you were on the other side."

"I am on the other side, you mental incompetent," Draco said. "Didn't you hear what I said before?"

He didn't understand. Watcher Draco could tell. The real Draco knew what Potter was getting at; sixth year had taught him how something could become real. But the fifth year Draco honestly didn't get it.

Apparently Potter had thought it was always real for him, though, as much as it was for himself. That he'd sold his soul to everything Dark and nasty at the age of eleven or something. Watcher Draco wanted to sneer at him, except that the expression on Potter's face was doing something odd and uncomfortable to his chest.

The last people from the DA meeting passed them in a clump. Granger and Weasley slowed and waited for Potter at the end of the corridor. Watcher Draco noticed that Cho Chang shot Potter a self-conscious look as they passed, but Potter didn't seem to even notice her. He remembered the rumours about their one disastrous date on Valentine's Day. It looked as though it had gone just as badly this time around.

The curly-haired girl walking at Chang's side took her arm and steered her bossily back into their conversation. Draco had an idea that she'd been the one who'd betrayed the DA, now that he looked at her again. He wondered if the possessive arm over Chang's might be a clue as to why she'd done it. He hadn't quite understood that at the time, since she had to know she was getting herself into trouble too, not to mention making a pariah of herself, since even without Granger's malicious little SNEAK hex she must have known it would get out that it had been her.

He was so caught up in speculations that he almost missed Potter's grin as he turned, with a "Well, seeya," towards his friends. He looked as though he'd just won something a little bit brilliant.

Watcher Draco hadn't worked out why when the scene faded into darkness.

*

"Psst, Potter!"

Draco was beginning to get dizzy with all this sliding.

Potter was walking with Granger and Weasley up a corridor that led from the Potions classroom towards the Great Hall. All three turned around at the hiss and Granger's eyes narrowed speculatively. Weasley just looked tense.

"That space is far too small for all three of you to lurk in, you know," Potter said.

Sieve Draco stepped out of the small alcove, Crabbe and Goyle squeezing free behind him.

"We were not lurking," Draco said with dignity. "We just didn't want to be seen with you."

"Nobody's asking you to be seen with us," Weasley put in. Watcher Draco was surprised to notice that there didn't seem to be much heat in it.

Sieve Draco sneered at him and there wasn't much heat in that, either. "It's about Dorks Anonymous."

"For the last time, Malfoy, that is not what it's called," Granger said over Crabbe and Goyle's snorts.

"What about it?"

Draco turned to look at Potter.

"I want to take part of tomorrow's lesson. I have a hex I want to teach everyone."

Weasley laughed. "Brilliant," he said. "Let's all learn dark curses. I think we're about ready to start on the Unforgivables, don't you, Harry?"

"Only if I can demonstrate on you," Draco drawled.

Potter interrupted. "Seriously, Malfoy, the DA isn't about learning dark hexes --"

"This isn't one," Draco said. "If the Weasel hadn't butted in I would have told you. It's called the Null Inhibitus charm and it's not even officially a hex. It's so warm and fluffy they even use it in medical magic, for panic attacks. Madam Pomfrey used it on Parkinson once; that's where I learned it."

"So... what's the point, then?"

Draco grinned. "You'll see when I demonstrate it."

"No way," Weasley said. "No way are we letting him test out some hex in the DA that we've never even seen before."

Granger frowned. "Ron's right, Harry, you can't let Malfoy teach something you haven't seen to be sure it's safe."

Draco shrugged, pointed his wand at Potter and said, "Inhibitus Nullius."

"Malfoy!" Granger spun on her heel, glaring. He widened his eyes in faux innocence.

"What? You wanted a demonstration."

"What did you do to him?"

Potter shook his head, as though to clear it. He looked at Granger, frowning.

"Don't be so loud, Hermione." His tone was startlingly plaintive. "You're giving me a headache." He glared at her. Granger's face went blank.

"Your voice gets all shrill and squeaky when you're angry," Potter continued. "Like a really loud house elf." He paused. "Like this: What did you do to him? Or maybe more like WHAT did you do to him?"

"I ... er ..." Granger looked as though she didn't know whether to be offended or worried. She glanced quickly at Draco, then back at Potter. "Are you feeling alright, Harry?"

But Potter seemed to be distracted by the need to get his angry elf Granger impersonation right. He was still trying out different voices, his voice loud in the still corridor.

"Blimey, Malfoy," Weasley said. "What did you do to him?"

Sieve Draco looked smug. "Removed his inhibitions," he said. "Well, not removed, otherwise he'd probably be drooling and walking into walls." He paused. "No different from usual, then." Granger glared and he smirked. "Damped down his inhibitions, anyway. It's like being the drunkest you've ever been, but without the slurring and the falling over. You can't stop yourself from saying and doing whatever you feel like doing." His eyes slid to Potter and widened. "Uh, apparently Potter feels like getting naked."

Granger spun around, as did Weasley. Goyle squeezed his eyes shut.

Potter wasn't getting naked but he was shrugging out of his school robes, frowning and tugging at them and then leaving them in a puddle of fabric on the stone floor. Luckily he was wearing those stiff Muggle trousers and a ratty shirt underneath. He stretched his arms luxuriously above his head. Then he stopped and glared at his own wrist.

"I hate Umbridge," he said, and his voice was dark and ugly now.

"I know," Granger said quickly. Out of the corner of her mouth she hissed at Draco, "Take it off him, Malfoy."

"Er ..." Draco said.

"But I hate Snape more," Potter said. "I really hate him. Umbridge is an evil cow, but she doesn't know anything about me. Snape knows, he knows more than you and Ron do, even. He knows about the cupboard, and Dudley and his gang, and the graveyard, and everything. And he loves it, all of it."

"Harry, you need to stop talking," Granger said urgently. "Malfoy, take the hex off."

"I will NOT stop talking," Potter exploded. His cheeks were bright red and furious. "EVERYBODY wants me to stop talking, to pretend that Voldemort never even EXISTED. Well, he does, and he's in my --"

"Silencio!" Granger cried. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Weasley blinked and caught Potter's stiff body as it fell backwards.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Granger said. "But you didn't want to say that stuff. And we can't risk you going off and trying to murder Snape, either."

"Remind me why not?" Weasley muttered, staring down at Potter.

Granger ignored him and turned to Draco, who looked a bit shell-shocked. "You don't know the counterspell, do you?" she said.

"Er. No?" he said. "But it wore off Pansy by morning."

"Fine," Granger said through gritted teeth. "Ron, take Harry up to the dormitories and make sure he doesn't talk to anybody." Weasley looked as though he was opening his mouth to ask why but Granger beat him to it. "Oh, honestly, Ron, Harry has secrets that would be dangerous to a lot of people if they got out and he doesn't know any better than to blab them at the moment."

Weasley nodded, cowed, and cast Mobilicorpus on Potter's board-like body. He floated sideways as he rose, the tattered collar of his shirt falling back over the hollow of his collarbone.

Granger turned on Draco as Weasley left, her face dark. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"It's a good charm, isn't it?" he said. "All his defences were down -- he couldn't even stop a Silencio."

"Malfoy --"

"Plus, did you notice that he didn't block against the charm in the first place? That's because it's essentially benign in nature -- it's diametrically opposed to the Imperius curse, for example, because it gives you your free will. And everyone can sense benign magic, that's why people don't hex their friends' noses off when they unexpectedly cast a neatening spell or something on them."

"I know that, Malfoy, but --"

"It's brilliant, isn't it?"

She glared at him. "You're not teaching it to anyone until you know the counterspell." She spun on her heel.

*

The slide was short this time; the shortest so far. He wasn't in the same corridor but he was somewhere in the dungeons. By the length of the slide Draco assumed it was later the same night, but it must have been quite a few hours later: the torches were dimmed, which only happened after curfew. Since Draco's Sieve self was pacing along rather than skulking in the shadows, Watcher Draco assumed he was doing prefect rounds.

He had his wand out but he looked bored, as well as Draco could make out in the dimmed torchlight. Rounds had been exciting at the beginning of the year, when pulling rank over students caught out of bed had made it all worthwhile, but the sheer monotony of most prefectly duties had had Draco almost crying with boredom by Christmas. Pansy never seemed to get tired of it but Draco had found increasingly ingenious ways to get out of rounds. Apparently he'd failed tonight.

"There you are," somebody said, a low, pleased sound. Watcher Draco was almost as startled as the other Draco. Potter stepped out of the shadows and gave Draco a pleased smile that matched the pleased voice.

"Potter?" Draco hesitated. "I thought Weasley was supposed to tie you to your bed or something."

Potter shrugged. "I broke the jinx," he said. "I didn't want to stay in the dorm."

"So you came looking for me?"

"Yeah," said Potter. He stepped closer, frowning. "I'm not sure why."

"Really?" Draco asked. "I'm not sure either."

"Cho kissed me once."

Potter, king of the non sequitur.

"Um. You did go on a date with her on Valentine's Day. It's kind of traditional, you know."

Potter waved a hand. "No, not then," he said. "After DA once. Everybody had left. She kissed me, but it was all wet, because she was crying."

"Um."

Potter seemed to have got quite a bit closer. Watcher Draco moved a couple of steps nearer to them, curious about where Potter thought he was taking this. If he was thinking at all, that was. Null Inhibitus was a powerful charm.

Potter moved closer still, his nose almost brushing Draco's cheek. Draco seemed to be frozen.

"She was sniffling and her lips were all shiny and wet," he said. His eyes flicked down to Draco's mouth and he said, in a soft echo of his earlier words to Granger, "Like this."

He leaned forward an extra inch and licked a stripe along Draco's lower lip.

Draco leaped back, nearly tumbling over his own feet.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, POTTER?"

Potter had his eyes closed, biting carefully at his lip. Watcher Draco jerked his eyes away and turned to his Sieve self. Who was still staring at Potter's mouth.

"The Null Inhibitus has worn off, hasn't it? This is a joke, isn't it?"

Potter opened his eyes, slowly, and his gaze landed on Draco. His expression focused and he moved forward once more.

The real Draco, watching, had to close his mouth and remember to breathe. This wasn't -- it didn't -- since when did Potter --?

Apparently Sieve Draco wasn't feeling either more coherent or more in control than he was, since he didn't do anything besides back into the wall when Potter pressed up against him and leaned forwards to lick at Draco's lips again. Potter made a kind of contented noise and leaned foward again, this time using his teeth to catch Draco's lower lip and nibble on it.

"Potter?" Sieve Draco asked faintly. "... I don't think I'm okay with this."

"Shhh," Potter said, pressing closer again, and Draco gave a gasp and bucked against him. His eyes were squeezed shut.

Potter was focused with total concentration on the other Draco's mouth, a completeness of concentration Watcher Draco hadn't ever seen in him except when he was going after the Snitch. He didn't ever chase the Snitch with his eyes closed, though. They were closed now; not squeezed shut like the Sieve Draco's, but drifting closed as though he couldn't keep them open anymore. Dark lashes fluttered on his cheeks like smudges as he moved his head, languidly, and Watcher Draco didn't know when he'd got close enough to them to count Potter's eyelashes.

Potter drew back, frowning a little, and opened his eyes.

"You haven't opened your mouth."

Sieve Draco blinked at him, dazed.

"Potter," he said after a moment. "You're going to hate yourself tomorrow. I promise you."

"No, I'm not," Potter said childishly. His frown got deeper. "I'm doing what I want, right? That's what the charm does? Well, I want to do this."

"You want to -- Potter, you're kissing me."

"No, I'm not," Potter said again. He grinned. "I would, but you're not opening your mouth."

"You don't want to kiss me." Draco sounded as though he was on the edge of hysteria. "How long have you wanted to kiss me?"

"Don't know." Potter nuzzled at Draco's neck. "Didn't know that I wanted to."

He found Draco's ear and licked around the shell, making him shudder violently.

"Potter ..." he said, a desperate thread of sound.

"Mmm."

One of Potter's hands brushed the fine fringe out of Draco's face, carefully, intently. Draco stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, and then as Potter bent towards his mouth again he moved. He shoved Potter forwards -- and followed him, pushing both of them up against the far wall of the corridor. His hands found a death grip in the front of Potter's pyjama top and his tongue shoved into Potter's mouth and the sounds he was making were wounded and breathless.

Potter melted into the changed hold, his arms twisting around Draco's neck and his mouth falling open. There was that pleased sound again, a mumble of contentment, and Watcher Draco had the odd thought that if he could hear Potter make that noise in real life it might right something he hadn't guessed was wrong.

Sieve Draco had his hands clenched in the front of Potter's pyjamas, the grip pulling the soft flannel collar halfway down Potter's shoulder. He kissed hard and one of his hands uncurled almost as though he was unaware of it. His hand moved blindly over the soft, worn material of the other boy's pyjama top, shoving the tattered line of the hem up over his hip, his stomach, baring the winter-paled skin, starting to flush. Potter shivered at the contact and kissed back harder.

Watcher Draco was aware of a warm tingle breaking through him, a heat that was uncomfortable and delicious all at the same time. He couldn't take his eyes off the two boys in the corridor.

Potter's hands were wandering now, too, and -- oh, god, he really didn't have any inhibitions, did he? -- his hand was brushing low over the front of Draco's robes. Draco shuddered and dropped his forehead onto Potter's shoulder, panting. He pushed into the hand at the front of his robes, which was rubbing now, moving with increasing confidence. A whine escaped him. He moved to find Potter's mouth again and Watcher Draco thought he was lost to everything but that. He didn't pull back until he needed to breathe, panting and staring at Potter.

Who was panting too, and whose eyes were gaining a frightening clarity. He stiffened, his hand dropping, and drew the tiny space available away from Draco's body.

"Oh god," he said in a small voice.

Draco stepped back and Potter stumbled away, his face a study in mortification.

"Oh ... my god. I didn't ..."

He backed away a few more steps, wrapping his pyjama-clad arms around him. Then he dropped his arms and fled. The muffled slap of his footsteps took a second or so to fade.

Sieve Draco stared after him, still breathing hard. He turned and buried his face against the cold stone wall.

*

Draco was still dazed when the slide stopped, and shivering a bit, which meant he was unprepared enough to let out a yelp when a shining silvery otter dove through him the instant he opened his eyes.

"Argh!" He threw his arms over his face, only lifting them to blink owlishly around when nothing more happened. The otter was gambolling around in front of him now. He felt a small degree of embarrassment as he realised that it had been a Patronus.

By the fond air of ownership with which Granger was watching it from a few feet away, Draco guessed it was hers.

He looked around with interest. They were in the Room of Requirement, of course, but this time there was actually a DA lesson in progress. Granger's wasn't the only Patronus frisking about, although it was one of the solider ones. Brown was stamping her foot at her tiny whisps of silver and Crabbe was inspecting the sort of spinning amorphous ball he appeared to have produced with a mournful interest. There was an excited chatter filling the space.

Sieve Draco was watching his own cat Patronus, which was whipping its tail and spitting a bit, with absolute concentration. Only the flush on his cheeks betrayed how much he was not looking at Potter, weaving through the practicing students. After a moment Potter came to a stop in front of Draco and bit his lip.

"Er ..."

Draco glanced up, then quickly back at his Patronus. It settled down as he watched and began cleaning its tail with sharp, satisfied little movements.

Potter looked at it too.

"Your Patronus is really good," he said.

Draco didn't look up. "Thanks."

"Malfoy ... Um. About ... um, last night?"

Potter was flushed and uncomfortable looking, but he kept sneaking glances at Draco to see if he was looking up.

"Mmhp." Sieve Draco seemed to be trying to produce the most noncommital sound that he could.

"I was ... um ..."

"Harry, I think I'm doing it!" Finnegan yelled from the other side of the room. Potter turned to look and Finnegan added, "Look -- ah -- it's gone ... but it was definitely something hairy, Harry!"

Draco's Patronus made a sudden leap and swiped at Granger's otter, who swept it aside with its tail.

"They are sort of nice, aren't they?" Granger said fondly.

Potter began to turn back to Draco but he was distracted by the door opening and closing. Watcher Draco couldn't see why at first, until he realised that the people near the door were staring down at the figure of a house elf emerging at knee height from the crowd.

Draco had to drag his eyes down from the ten or so wooly hats balanced on top of each other, bobbing about on its head. He knew by the hats -- the clothes -- who it was, of course, even before he saw the face with its wide, frightened eyes. It was the Malfoy house elf Potter had stolen in second year. Which he'd accomplished in some manner that Draco had always felt rather suspicious of. His father had hinted that he had been the victim of dire and darkly manipulative plans but he hadn't quite met Draco's eyes. Also, Draco knew Potter and he thought four year olds were probably more capable of dire and dark manipulation.

The elf was squeaking and trying to say something. Warn Potter about something and -- oh. Right. Unless Draco missed his guess this was the evening Umbridge broke up the DA meeting and Dumbledore fled the school.

Potter stared in dawning horror down at the little elf, holding it by one shoulder and three hats to keep it from running into a wall.

"Dobby -- she hasn't found out about this -- about us -- about the DA?"

Dobby looked terrified and guilty.

"Is she coming?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"

Watcher Draco noticed Millicent Bulstrode casually take down the list of names Granger had tacked to the wall and Incendio it as she slipped towards the door.

Potter straightened and stared around. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" he yelled. "RUN!"

Sieve Draco was trapped near the back of the crowd rushing to the door and was using his elbows to make headway. Watcher Draco slipped through the doorway in his wake, in time to see him pelting off in the direction of the Library, right on the heels of Dean Thomas and Ginevra Weasley. Weasley vanished around the corner just as Thomas caught his shoe on a deep crack in the flagstones and went sprawling. Sieve Draco had to grab at the wall to keep from falling over him. He looked up and saw the same thing Watcher Draco had just seen: Umbridge approaching at a trot, her pink bows bobbing obscenely.

Watcher Draco found himself yelling at him. "Improvise, you idiot!" He stared at his Sieve self, willing him to move. "Use Thomas! She's going to catch him anyway!"

Apparently Sieve Draco thought the same thing.

"Professor!" he called. "Hey, Professor -- I've got one!"

"Draco?" She glanced at Thomas, slowly getting to his feet. "Oh, very good work! Montague must have found you after all!"

Sieve Draco smirked at her. Then his eyes slid past her to Harry Potter, who was standing with a wooly hat in his hand, staring at Draco. He looked shocked.

"Er, Potter --" Draco said. Potter's face hardened; the hurt disappearing as if it had never been there.

"Go to hell, Malfoy," he said. "Just -- fuck you."

Umbridge was talking: taking points, gloating, dragging Potter by the arm. The scene darkened and pushed him out.

*

He came back to the library with a sick lurch, catching himself with his hands on the desk. He stared at the deeply scored graffiti on the desk between his splayed hands.

"Malfoy?"

He dropped his hands and ran.

Crabbe and Goyle found him in the bathroom opposite the library, on his knees, retching into the toilet bowl in one of the cubicles.