Those Wrong, Yet it's Right, Things

Chapter 4

I have never met a man so ignorant that I couldn't learn something from him.

~Galileo Galilei (better known as just Galileo)

"Harry, I haven't seen you this happy in...well, a while," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully. Bringing up the death of his godfather was not something you did around the Boy-Who-Lived.

"I found her," Harry said matter-of-factly, not letting his quill halt its path. Ron sat across from him, shaking his head that Harry was actually doing his homework a day ahead of time, and moved the chess piece he'd been pondering over finally.

"Your turn, mate."

"Found who, Harry?" Hermione brought her eyes up from her book to look at Harry, waiting for him to return her glance. Sure enough, a moment later, the quill halted and he looked up. He quickly moved a chess piece, ignoring the look of triumph on Ron's face, and turned back to her.

"The Slytherin we're going to recruit."

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, checkmating him and ignoring Hermione's 'Ronald, language!' at the same time. "We've been on the lookout all year and I haven't seen a one of them that would turn against their families, mate."

"Ron's right, Harry. I haven't seen any Slytherins straying from their obvious path. Not any that would be of use to us anyway. We don't just need anybody, Harry, we need someone who can actually help us."

"Yeah. Smart," Ron agreed. "And if it's a girl you're talking about, good looking wouldn't be a bad quality either."

"Ron!"

"She's perfect. Trust me. We just have to get her to realize it." Harry ignored his friends banter, by now he was more then used to it.

"Who is it, Harry?"

"I don't want to tell just yet. I'm heading up to bed."

"But, Harry...."

"Don't worry, 'Mione, I know what I'm doing. I just need to handle this alone for a while."

"Are you sure she'd do it, mate?" Ron asked cleaning up the chessboard.

"No."

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Pansy was sitting in the back of the library writing her two-foot assignment for History of Magic when she felt his firm grip on her shoulder.

"Hello, love," he coed balancing himself on the arm of her chair.

"Draco," she nodded in greeting.

"It's very considerate staying clear of me when you're sick so as not to give me anything. After all, the Dark Lord would hate for me to be sick on Friday, the day of my ceremony."

"Yes, Malfoy, that's exactly what I was doing." Pansy let the words drip with a sarcasm she hoped he wouldn't notice and coughed faintly two times.

His hand suddenly fastened like a viper on her upper arm and he brought his face menacingly within a mere inch of hers.

"I know that's what it was," he said. "Because you wouldn't dare," he tightened his hold, "dare disobey or ignore me."

He released his hold and stood smoothly. Pansy held back the urge to rub her arm and stared defiantly up at him. She hated that he was standing over her where he thought he belonged.

"I don't like this new attitude of yours. Get rid of it. That's an order," he spat. He grabbed her hand and bent at the waist to place his cold lips upon it. As soon as he released her hand she wiped the back of it on the arm of the chair, though she knew it was childish. He merely smirked and strode out of the library.

"Bastard." She slammed her books shut and rolled up the scroll. She wouldn't be able to concentrate tonight.

As she made her way back down to the dungeons Pansy decided to take a detour out to the lake. Sitting by the edge of the water, she shivered, sure she would freeze to death if she stayed out here too much longer. Not that she really cared.

Pansy could see the castle lights reflected in the black of the water, the moon dead center of the lake. She glanced up towards the Gryffindor tower and saw a boy standing in the window, staring out at the night. Potter.

The fool actually thought he understood her. After one day of being forced to put up with her presence after so long of ignoring it, he just assumed he knew every intimate thing about her. He didn't know anything. But she knew plenty about him.

She reached out and ran her fingertips along the edge of the water. She wouldn't imagine she'd miss her parents all that much if they died; fell behind some curtain and never emerged. But she'd heard enough to know Potter was plagued by his godfather's death. For a second she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

She stood swiftly and gathered her bag. Staring again into the black waves she realized she had something in common with Potter: both of their futures had already been decided for them.