Pariah

Pariah, Chapter 14

Aside

Draco had a tendency to ruin everything.

Blaise glared at the Head Boy from his perfectly still perch in one of the high back chairs. The green light from the fire cast long shadows against the low stone walls of the dark common room. Draco was reclined on the sofa, sleeping with a book in his lap. His skin was so pale that in the light of the fire, he seemed otherworldly, phantasmal.

All day, the blond had been dogging his steps, and frankly Blaise was a little tired of it, which is why he had slipped a Sleeping Draught into the other boy's pumpkin juice. The glass now sat empty on the coffee table, next to a pile of Draco's school things, since he had stayed late in the common room with Blaise, "studying."

He had things to do, people to see, elaborate plots to arrange. He couldn't have Draco discovering what Blaise was up to, especially now that things were finally coming together. He knew that he couldn't have possibly been that transparent. Every one of his actions leading up to this point had been meticulously orchestrated to draw the least amount of attention. While musing in the dark common room, Blaise had determined that the only thing that could have possibly tipped Draco off was the amount of time Blaise had been spending lately with Draco's ex-girlfriend. The Head Boy was a predictably possessive little twit, that much was true. His gray eyes followed Pansy every move she made.

Pansy had been in a huff ever since she had "caught" the Hufflepuff detectives and stormed off to have it out with Weasley. She had begun talking to Morag again, at least. He had seen them together on Sunday afternoon in the Charms section of the library. It was progress, at any rate. She seemed to be slowly getting back to her old self, now that she was through with Ron. Still, he wasn't entirely confident in his luck. There were several things he was curious about, namely Granger's dedication to the project. Not worried, just curious.

Curiosity was something that he did rather well.

The minutes ticked by, and he began to hum vaguely, something by the Beastly Boys, watching the flames lazily lick at the stones in the fireplace. He checked his pocket watch and silently rose to his feet.

He poked Draco's chest, once, twice, but the boy only snorted softly in his sleep.

Blaise smiled. Everything, it seemed, was all right.

It was time to get down to business.

* * *

Measure me in metered lines, in one decisive stare, the time it takes to get from here to there. My ribs that show through tee shirts and these shoes I got for free. I'm unconsoled, I'm lonely, I am so much better than I used to be.

Down another corridor, around another corner, through another dark passage, Ginny walked, shrouded in the Invisibility Cloak, which, oddly enough, smelled faintly of dirty socks and soap, the smell of boys, of brothers. Every minute or two, she'd glance down at the section of the map she had folded forward, where she could see herself--a small brown dot reading 'Ginevra Weasley' amid the dungeon maze, wandering aimlessly--but never anyone else or anything that gave away any clues as to this secret passage she had to believe was down here. Somewhere.

She would never admit it, but she was about ready to give up. The more she walked the labyrinthine dungeon passages, the more she began to wonder if she had dreamed this entire thing. It was certainly possible that there were pieces of Tom still floating around in her brain, unhinged memories she couldn't quite grasp, little half-thoughts and the ghosts of images from the phantom of a sixteen-year old boy who would have killed her, if it hadn't been for Harry. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more she thought maybe she was remembering a dream and had tricked herself into thinking it was something left over from Tom's occupation. But she had to go on.

Mainly, she didn't want to disappoint Harry. She had been so sure of it, and he was counting on her. When she closed her eyes sometimes, she could call up that image: a passage, long, dark, and dripping, leading from the dungeons to the caves outside Hogsmeade. It was clear as day in her mind, yet she knew she had never been there before, and neither had anyone, apparently. It wasn't on the maps. Parkinson hadn't been any help at all. Ginny had even taken it upon herself to look into Hogwarts, a History, but to no avail.

And if it had all been a dream...

Ginny sighed and glanced down at the map again for perhaps the thirtieth time in as many minutes. There she was: a brown dot between the messy lines demarking the walls of the dungeon corridors.

She rubbed her eyes. It was late, she was tired, and she should have been back hours ago. She wanted to be tucked up snug in her bed, listening to the sounds of the forest through the window, which she preferred to leave open, regardless of the weather. At least it had finally stopped raining.

Carefully, she ran her finger along one of the map's thick lines, tracing it to the edge of the fold. She flipped the map over to continue following it when something caught her attention: two dots moving toward one another.

"What the holy fuck?" Ginny said, taking off in the direction of the two people.

If it were coincidence, she should try to warn Hermione. If it wasn't...

She rounded the corner and saw them just ahead of her.

He was wearing what appeared to be black silk pajamas. They hung a bit off his hips, and he walked with a slight swing in his step, like he was rushing, which seemed a bit out of character. It was cold in the dungeons, and he was barefoot. Barefoot! He should have been frozen. Maybe that's why he was walking fast.

She was wearing her cloak, bundled up as she would be, hair pulled back into a loose plait like she usually wore to bed.

They met in the corridor and hugged.

Bloody HUGGED.

Ginny had no idea what to do. She felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed with shock, her mouth hanging open. All at once several possible courses of action rushed through her head. Should she throw off the cloak and demand to know what was going on? Should she knock Hermione down and drag her by the hair to Madam Pomfrey and ask for a full hex inspection? Should she back slowly away and pretend like this never happened, telling herself she was having a hallucination?

Maybe that was it. She pinched herself and closed her eyes, but when she reopened them one at a time, they were still standing in the corridor. Hermione's hands were on his forearms as they broke out of the embrace and she looked past him to exactly where Ginny stood.

"Are you sure you're alone?" she whispered.

"Of course," Blaise said slowly. "Why?"

Secret tryst? Diabolical scheme? Had Hermione turned evil, or had he turned good?

Hermione's gaze returned to Blaise. "I just... felt something, I guess."

Ginny walked slowly forward, hugging the wall. She'd just hang around long enough to ascertain the situation and then be on her way.

Blaise raised one eyebrow. "Really?"

"Not that kind of something," Hermione said darkly, one side of her mouth quirking up. "You're not my type."

"Tall, dark, and handsome? I'm everyone's type."

Hermione tutted under her breath and rolled her eyes. "Can we just talk about business? That's why you wanted to see me, isn't it?"

"You don't give yourself nearly enough credit, Granger," Blaise said. "And why you always insist on hugging me every time we meet is beyond me."

"I did not hug you," Hermione snapped. "I was checking you for weapons; contraband. We've been through this before, Zabini. I don't fancy a turn with a Baldwin Bomb or anything else my wand can't detect. And I don't enjoy touching you, either, since I know what you're thinking. Quite on the contrary, in fact."

Blaise crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said.

"I didn't say a word," Blaise said, and then coughed into his hand. "Denial."

"So," Hermione said, ignoring Blaise's comment, "I think it all went well, don't you?"

"Oh, quite," Blaise said, smoothing some imaginary wrinkles in his pajama top.

"Stop that," Hermione warned.

"What?" he inquired innocently.

"Preening."

Blaise waved one hand dismissively. "Whatever. Things seem to be falling into perfect place on my end."

"That scene outside the common room the other night was anything but perfect," she said.

"Oh, come on," Blaise pushed. "That was truly inspired. I wasn't sure they would go for it, but those Hufflepuffs really came through in a pinch."

"The entire house heard what happened," Hermione said testily.

"Then there shouldn't be any doubt of their true feelings, and little hope of them getting back together."

Hermione frowned. "You don't think they're going to get back together, do you?"

"It would take a miracle. And by miracle, I mean lobotomy. Pansy is not the forgiving sort."

Hermione nodded. "We did the right thing, didn't we?"

"Why are you asking me?" Blaise said, affronted.

"It was really more of a rhetorical question, meant to instigate a discussion by which you would inevitably reassure me that treating Ron and Pansy like this is the right thing to do," Hermione said quickly. "Because, honestly? After seeing Ron fashion a voodoo likeness of Malfoy out of string beans and potatoes tonight at dinner, I am frankly a bit concerned."

Blaise sighed dramatically. "Right. We talked about this. At length and in great detail. There are certain parties which are not to be trusted. Any and all connections between them and Potter need to be severed, for his own safety and for the safety of us all. They are not to be trusted." He paused thoughtfully. "Granted, I don't trust anyone, but if Ron and Pansy were to grow any closer, they could potentially put everything at risk."

Er, what? Ginny thought. So Hermione was working with Blaise--Blaise Zabini--in order to protect Harry. And they were protecting Harry by breaking up Ron and Pansy. Well, that made no sense whatsoever.

"But you trust me?" Hermione said suspiciously.

Blaise shrugged. "I trust that you will do whatever it takes to keep your friends safe. You're Gryffindor, after all. That's what you do."

"Good. I don't trust you either," Hermione said. "But I do believe that you don't want certain parties gaining power, especially since you have so much to lose."

"Fucking sycophants," Blaise said darkly.

They stood in silence for a moment, and then Hermione cleared her throat. "What's next, then?"

"I'm taking Pansy to Hogsmeade on Valentine's."

"On a date?"

"No, not a date. As friends. We're only ever friends," he clarified quickly.

"All right then."

"And you?"

"I'm going to Hogsmeade with Terry, of course."

Blaise chuckled. "No, what's next for you?"

"Oh!" Hermione said, coloring slightly. "I have some projects I'm working on."

"With the map, you mean?"

How did he know about that?

"How did you know about that?" Hermione asked.

"Weasley told Pansy all about it," Blaise said with satisfaction.

"That settles it. No doubt in my mind that we absolutely have to keep them apart," Hermione said with conviction. "Nothing good could come of it."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Blaise said, shuddering. "Picture the children those two would have."

Hermione looked at him with an expression of utmost disgust. "I'd rather not, thanks."

Ginny felt momentarily indignant on behalf of her brother, and then conceded that perhaps Hermione had a point. In order for her brother to have children, he'd have to do other things first, and those other things were things that one just shouldn't think about when one thought about Ron. Then again, Ginny was Ron's little sister, and so it was only natural for her to never, ever think about Ron in that way. But if she wasn't his sister, she'd think he was quite a dish, and she imagined that many people who were not Ron's sisters probably entertained thoughts of Ron doing things that sometimes led to bearing children (but not necessarily). And then she decided that she should turn off her brain, because she was tired and it wasn't doing her any favors at all right then. If she wasn't afraid of being discovered, she'd bang her head against the damn stone wall.

"Anyway, I should get back," Hermione said.

"I'll see you around," Blaise said, turning.

"I'm sure you will," Hermione said, and began to walk down the corridor.

Ginny held her breath and waited for Blaise to pass before she took off running, bypassing Hermione with the help of the map, although she nearly killed herself when she had to jump over a cat slinking up the dungeon steps. She ran quietly up the steps of a secret passage to the West tower, and then legged it down several corridors until she arrived at the Gryffindor common room. She thanked the powers that be that the Fat Lady was still awake and rushed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, still under the cloak.

Silently, she entered the seventh year boys' room, making her way in the dark to Harry's bed. The faint glow of a wand assured her that he was still awake.

"Harry?" she whispered on the other side of his bed curtains. "Harry, it's Ginny."

She heard the covers rustling as Harry moved in his bed, and then the curtains opened about an inch in front of her face, and she saw Harry, wand out, peering through the crack in the curtains. "Ginny?" he whispered, confused.

Ginny pulled the cloak off her head. "Harry, I have to talk to you."

Harry blinked and pulled open the curtains. His eyes were ringed with purple tinges, and he looked tired. He was wearing a thin white cotton tee shirt, and she could make out his muscles and bones beneath it as he moved aside, giving her room to climb onto the bed. "What's the matter?"

Ginny sat down gingerly on the bed (since having it fixed at Halloween it sometimes creaked ominously), crossed her legs in front of her, and explained what she had witnessed down in the dungeons. "So, what are we going to do?"

Harry looked incredulous. "She hugged him?"

Ginny nodded, then half-shrugged. "Apparently, she was checking him for weapons."

"Smart girl," Harry mused, and then was quiet for several minutes before he looked up from his hands, which were folded in his lap. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Ginny said. "It's all rather strange. Don't you think it's strange?"

"Well, of course I think it's strange," Harry said, leaning back on his pillow and crossing his arms behind his head. "But Hermione usually knows what she's doing."

"Even if she is doing it with a Slytherin," Ginny agreed. It was too confusing, this whole thing, and she was so tired. She rubbed her eyes and groaned.

"Are you all right?" Harry said, sitting up and leaning toward her, touching her on the shoulder. His fringe fell in front of his glasses. "You look tired."

"I am," Ginny admitted with a yawn. She grinned and brushed his black hair off his face gently. "Your hair's getting so long."

"I know," Harry said quietly, grinning back at her. "It could stand a trim."

Ginny smiled at him, cocking her head to the side and looking at him, really looking at him. He always looked so stressed lately, and tired like he hadn't been sleeping at all. His shoulders were tense and his whole body looked wrecked. She had seen it in his walk, the way he slumped under the weight of his bag when he was in the halls, the slow way he seemed to do everything lately, as if he was afraid he'd break if he did anything fast. The only time he looked remotely like himself was when he was on his broom at Quidditch practice. They had a match coming up the Saturday after next, and she wondered if he would make it through. She knew how much Quidditch meant to him, and she wondered if it was the only thing that kept him going sometimes. Well, that and Ron. They had a very special relationship.

"What?" Harry asked, brow crinkling as she looked at him.

"Turn around," Ginny said, gently taking him by the shoulders and coaxing him to turn so that his back was to her. "You'll be completely useless to us on the pitch if you don't learn to relax."

He scoffed, but relented as she placed her hands on the tops of his shoulders, feeling his muscles slowly relax as she kneaded them with her hands. She rubbed his shoulders for a few minutes, and then trailed her hands down either side of his spine, willing the tension to ease as she applied light pressure first down, and then back up. She pushed her fingers up through his shaggy hair beginning at the nape of his neck, pulled them back out, and then did it again.

Harry let out a soft sigh, and Ginny recognized the feeling that rose in her, that turned her blood hot. She had been with other boys, Michael and Dean and even Anthony Goldstein for a month last year, but none of them could do to her what just touching Harry had been doing to her lately. She had suppressed it, had fought it, had told herself a thousand times no. These feelings she had for Harry, no matter how deep she tried to bury them, always had a way of surfacing. They had a power all their own, and it scared her.

In the beginning, it had just been a silly schoolgirl crush. He was the hero; he was her hero. Something like that could really go to a girl's head. It was several years before she began to understand that she didn't always need rescuing, that she maybe had the power to rescue herself. Once she understood that, the crush went away, and she was able to see Harry for who he was, beyond the fairy tales and the romanticized hero archetype. The clearer she saw him, the more she understood that sometimes he was the one that needed rescuing. He was a mess of violent passions and mismanaged altruistic intentions. She wanted to fix him, she wanted to save him, she wanted him to be less broken, yet she knew it was nothing she could do herself. The only thing that she could do was just be there for him, for those moments when he needed her, whether he knew it or not. Moments like this.

What were friends for, if not for that?

It was better to be friends. It was safer.

She quickly pulled her hands into her lap, and moved away from him. She was just tired.

"Ginny?" Harry asked curiously, turning back around to face her.

"I'm really tired," Ginny said, squeezing her fists in an effort to regain composure.

"Oh. Okay," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You want to sleep here?"

Ginny's eyes widened. "What?" she croaked.

"I mean," Harry stammered, "you could have my bed. I'm not that tired."

"Harry, you look like you could drop at any minute."

"I know," Harry said, not looking at her. "But I'm probably not going to sleep."

Ginny looked at him long and hard. It broke her heart to see him like this. "I should go back to my room. They'll ask questions if I'm not there in the morning."

"Yeah, you're right," Harry conceded. "I just..."

"I should go," Ginny whispered.

"All right," Harry said softly.

Ginny made ready to leave, and the bed creaked loudly.

Ron snorted in his sleep, and Ginny and Harry looked at each other, startled. Ginny tried to move again, and the bed groaned. "Well," she said.

"It's really all right if you stay. I could read at my desk," he said.

Ginny's eyes settled on the book next to Harry's pillow. Ghosts, Visions, and Phantasms. She swallowed. "Let's just give it a minute to make sure everyone is asleep," she whispered. "Then I'll go."

Harry nodded.

They were silent as they listened to the sounds of Harry's dorm mates sleeping.

"Maybe we should go to Hogsmeade together," Harry said suddenly. "To keep an eye out."

"That's sort of what I was planning to do, anyway," Ginny said, slowly moving her legs off the edge of the bed.

"Six eyes are better than two," Harry said with a slight grin.

"Six?" Ginny asked.

Harry pointed at his glasses.

"Oh," Ginny said, grinning. He told the silliest jokes sometimes. "That would be all right."

"Then it's a date."

Ginny looked at him curiously.

"Not a date date," Harry explained quickly. "Just friends, you know. And there's something I have to do, but we could meet there. Just as friends."

"All right," Ginny whispered, setting her feet down on the floor softly and rising slowly with her eyes closed, praying that Harry's bed wouldn't creak again. It didn't, and so she stood, looking over her shoulder at Harry. "See you tomorrow?"

"Sure," Harry said, getting up on his knees and reaching out to take the wadded-up cloak out of her hands.

Ginny smiled. "Get some sleep, Harry."

"I will," he said without conviction.

"Liar."

Harry shrugged. "Good night, Ginny."

"Good night," she said as she crossed the dark room.

On the other side of the door, she leaned her head back and breathed in deeply, staring at the ceiling and listening to her heart beating a million times a minute. She closed her eyes and pictured traveling through space at night, stars leaping out at her, and began to calm. That was close, she thought.

* * *

Terrified of telephones and shopping malls and knives, and drowning in the pools of other lives. Rely a bit too heavily on alcohol and irony. Get clobbered on by courtesy, in love with love and lousy poetry.

"That was close!" Seamus said to himself as he ducked into the dark doorway while Hermione and Terry passed. It was their night on rounds, and if Seamus was caught, not only would he probably get detention--Hermione took her position as Head Girl very seriously--but he'd blow his Defense assignment completely. He poked his head back into the hall in time to see them round the corner and take off down the adjoining corridor.

He was having some of the worst luck he'd ever had. All of his devices and schemes--the Walking Shadow of Secret, the Pulley System of Truth, the Hush-Hush Hanger On, direct questioning--all of it was powerless against Hermione. He was surely doomed!

"Doomy, doom, doom," he sang as he moved once again out into the hallway.

At first, he thought it would be easy to learn Hermione's Evil Secret. Because, of course, all secrets were inherently evil, which is why he rarely kept any. Why bother? Anything that was good enough to keep to himself, he might as well share, right? But he only had one week left, and while he had several rolls of parchment to hand in illustrating his fabulous designs and noting, at length, his spy activities, he really, really wanted to know what the deal was with Hermione. It was crucial. It was essential. He was dying inside, not knowing.

"La la la, death," he sang as he softly walked closer to Hermione and Terry, who were walking down the middle of the corridor, holding hands. He figured if he got close enough, he could tap into their conversation.

He ducked into another doorway and pulled out his Extendable Ears, courtesy of Ron. Tucking one end into his ear, he threw the flesh-colored string out into the hallway.

"You don't think Wolfram was exaggerating his findings?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Well, if you look at Hart's work on the subject, you'll see how they support Wolfram's data, however flawed his original experiment designs were," Terry said.

Seamus rolled his eyes. How much could two people talk about Arithmancy, anyway? It was unnatural. He was getting nowhere! He tugged on the Extendable Ear and it flew towards him, hitting the corner of the doorway with a thud that, when amplified through the strange device, was loud enough to rupture Seamus's eardrum.

"Bloody hell!" Seamus swore as he yanked the thing out of his ear and checked for blood.

"Seamus?" Hermione asked, suddenly in front of him, wand lit and looking hacked off as all hell.

"Hermione!" Seamus grinned. "How are you?"

"Seamus, what are you doing here?" Hermione demanded.

"Just, er, looking for my quill."

"Your quill?" Terry asked suspiciously.

Seamus grinned at him. "Yup. Quill. My quill. My beautiful baby quill. Have you seen it?"

Hermione lowered her wand and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "He loses his quills all the time. I've loaned him about a dozen in the past week."

"Oh," Terry said. "I suppose this was your last one, Finnegan?"

Seamus nodded quickly. "Can't revise without a revising weapon, er, instrument."

Hermione pulled one out of her back pocket. It was slightly bent, but Seamus caught it up in his fingers swiftly. "Now, go back to the common room. If I find you out you've been out-of-bounds again this week, it'll be detention."

"I told you on Monday night that I was looking for belladonna, didn't I?"

"Belladonna does not grow in the dungeons," Terry said with a sigh.

"I know that now," Seamus said, grinning so wide his entire face hurt. "I'll be off, then."

Hermione nodded. "Try to hang on to that one," she said, pointing at the quill Seamus held in his hand.

Seamus winked at her and took off at a trot down the corridor. He turned the corner, then stopped dead, pulling out the Extendable Ear in time to hear Hermione say, "Of course he's on drugs. Him and Neville both."

"Druggie, drugs, drugs," Seamus sang, taking off for the common room again. He did have other work to be doing.

When Seamus walked into the dormitory, it looked like they were in the middle of some heavy remodeling. Neville's desk was turned on its side and all around it were floating about half the bed curtains in the room. "Oi, fuckers!" Seamus said by way of greeting.

"Rough night, then?" Dean asked, poking his head out from around the bed hangings suspended in the middle of the room.

"Luck of the Irish, my arse," Seamus said, flopping down on his bed and pulling a Playwizard magazine out from under his pillow. It was the new one, and it had a very interesting article about... something very interesting, he was sure, although like hell he read it for the damn articles. All that space, wasted on words. Damn shame.

"We were just saying," Ron said, peaking out from the other side of the curtains, "how unfortunate it is that you're the only one not done with your Defense assignment."

"Yours was a fluke," Seamus muttered grumpily.

"I do believe it was fate that led Draco Malfoy's notebook to be found in the library late last night. Unprotected. Vulnerable. Laying there with a half-finished letter to his mother," Ron said dreamily.

"I still can't believe his Patronus is a duck," Harry laughed.

"And that he can only conjure it in the bath when he's sure no one is looking," Ron said proudly. "Makes you wonder if he can even get undressed in front of other people, doesn't it?"

"I still can't believe he'd write about it in a letter to his mother, not to mention all that sap about the Lake District," Dean said. "And you all think I'm a poof?"

"Oh, no mate," Ron said quickly. "We don't think that about you at all."

Dean looked at him crossly.

"All right, so maybe it's come up once or twice," Ron admitted. "But you know we wouldn't think any less of you if you were."

"For the last time," Dean said, "I say no to MANSEX."

Seamus giggled, turning the magazine sideways. "Mansex, dada da dada."

"You're all pricks," Dean said, eyes narrowed.

"So, how's it coming, Neville?" Harry asked.

Neville stood up slowly, dusting his hands off on his trousers, and slowly removed the pair of boxer shorts he was wearing over his face as a mask. "Spores are separated and sealed." He held up in his other hand a perfectly round, luminescent bubble, sparkling with the magical spores of the Draconis Conspiciendus. "God, I love this shit. It's just so pretty."

"Oooh, sparkly!" Seamus said, bouncing up from his bed and tripping over several pairs of Dean's shoes in the effort to reach Neville. "Can I touch it? Can I? Oh, please?"

Neville shook his head and held the bubble further above his head. "I might be a clumsy bastard, but you're bloody barmy, Finnegan."

Seamus pouted for a second. "Then who gets to hold it?"

Neville grinned and looked at Ron. "You want the honors, Weasley? It is your ex we're hexing, after all."

"We were never together," Ron pointed out quickly.

"Right. Whatever," Neville said without conviction.

"Or if we were, it wasn't important. She was just a rebound, that's all," Ron explained, growing redder by the minute. "And this has nothing to do with her. Like I even think about her anymore, pur-lease. Pansy Parkinson is last week's news."

"Yeah. I've heard that one before," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

Seamus, amused, looked from the bubble to Ron's face and back again. "So, are you going to keep watch over our secret weapon, or what?"

Ron looked thoughtful for a minute. "I don't want that stuff any nearer to me than it absolutely needs to be. Let Seamus do it."

Seamus was dancing from foot to foot, eyes on the bubble. It was so sparkly! "Gimme gimme gimme sweet dragon sparklies," he sang.

"Okay, fine," Neville said, lowering the bubble and placing it gently in Seamus's hands. "Just be careful with it, man. Those spores are dangerous, and they have a mission."

"A very sacred mission," Ron warned as Seamus wrapped his fingers around the bubble.

It was warm and slightly tingly. It was the coolest thing ever. Cooler than Hannah's breasts. Cooler than Dean's circumcised bits. Cooler, even, than the Pulley System of Truth, and that was really saying something. "I swear by all things holy," Seamus said solemnly, "I will guard the sparkly pretty with my life."

"For the next thirty-six hours," Dean said seriously, "that bubble rules you."

"Consider it done, mate," Ron said, laughing at Seamus as he examined the bubble in the light, watching the sparkly spores refract in rainbows.

"You're all complete nutters," Harry said with a fair amount of amusement.

True to his word, The Plan completely consumed Seamus's thoughts for the next day and a half. Seamus even gave up his Hermione Hunting for the sake of the sparkly bubble, spending all of his free time in the dormitory, eye on the bubble's new home--a shoebox the previous occupants of which had been several candid photos of girls Seamus had paid Colin Creevey a pretty spot of gold for.

On Valentine's Day, the seventh year Gryffindor boys assembled around the bubble's box in the middle of the dormitory.

"Now, remember," Ron explained, "we go in, we execute The Plan, we leave right quick. They won't be expecting anything from Neville, so he should be the one to drop it."

Neville nodded gravely. "I shall not fail you."

Ron slapped Neville on the back. "In, drop, run."

"Does everyone have their masks?" Dean asked.

Seamus pulled out a pair of silky knickers that had been procured for him for the occasion. "I don't think they constitute masks, really."

"We'll transfigure them before going in," Harry said. "Less suspicious."

"Oh, because stalking about the streets of Hogsmeade with a pair of tartan silk knickers in my pocket isn't suspicious at all?" retorted Seamus.

They all laughed. "For you, it's completely natural," Dean said.

"We better get going," Harry said, checking his watch. "They'll be lining up now."

The boys all nodded at one another, and Seamus withdrew the bubble from the box, gingerly handing it to Neville, who quickly sealed it inside another bubble and pocketed it inside his robes. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," they replied.

They walked down to the Entrance Hall from Gryffindor Tower in a group, Neville in the middle. Seamus looked around them in the hallway, wondering if they were being conspicuous. In truth, he was beginning to feel nervous. This was going to be a prank of legend, but hopefully, they'd never get the credit for it. They were all wearing regular black school cloaks, knickers stuffed in the back pockets of their dirty jeans waiting to be turned into masks and slipped on furtively before The Plan was put into action. If one thing went even slightly wrong, they'd be expelled. Or they'd see some pretty awesome visions. Either way.

They were the last ones to leave the castle, bound for the village. Seamus breathed a sigh of relief once they were actually out of the gates. They had made it this far, past Filch and Snape, slipping out right under their noses. It put a little bounce in his step, a little swing in his hips, and he hummed a light tune under his breath. It was a beautiful day to be spent perpetrating high jinks in the company of his best mates. It was bliss. Heaven. Radiant, sparkling sunshine reflected off the lake, and he felt that nothing could possibly bring him down.

"Harry! Ron!" Ginny called out as she run up to them on the road, coming from the village. "I'm so lucky I found you."

"Why? What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"It's Hermione," Ginny panted.

All of the boys looked fearfully at one another. Seamus moved closer to Neville, hiding the bulge of the bubble in his pocket.

"Hermione?" Ron croaked. "What about Hermione? She's not here, is she?"

"No, and that's the problem," Ginny explained. "No one's seen her since breakfast."

"She's probably with Terry somewhere," Harry said.

"Terry's with Michael and Anthony," she said. "He said Hermione was supposed to meet up with them, but she didn't show up."

Seamus turned quickly in a circle, looking for the bushy-haired Head Girl. If they were caught now, they'd be toast. Seamus liked toast. He liked toast with raspberry jam.

"We should go find her," Harry said to Ron.

"You don't think she's been kidnapped or something?" Ron asked.

"Try not to sound so pleased," Ginny said darkly. "It's possible she's involved with something and is in over her head."

"That's crazy talk," Ron said.

"We should go," Harry said again to Ron before turning to the other three Gryffindor boys. "Will you guys be all right without us?"

"I think so," Dean whispered candidly. "I've been practicing that Disillusionment Charm you showed me."

"Dean can be quite charming," Seamus whispered distractedly, returning to the conversation when he was doubly sure that Hermione was, in fact, nowhere to be found.

"We've got it covered," Neville assured.

"Okay, good," Harry said, taking Ron by the arm and heading back to the castle with Ginny.

Seamus looked at Dean and Dean looked at Neville and Neville looked at Seamus. "And then there were three," Dean said. "Well, shall we?"

They headed off to the Three Broomsticks where the Slytherins were supposed to be assembling that afternoon, according to a very flustered Nott, whom Seamus had popped out of a doorway at and asked about his Valentine's Day plans, getting an answer from him before he could be appropriately suspicious. Seamus was good at catching people off guard, except Hermione, of course.

They peeked in through the windows on the side of the building, watching the Slytherins sit down at a big round table in the front corner of the pub. "There's Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, those birds they're always with, that skinny little thing that Malfoy's shagging, her friend, the rest of the Quidditch team, some stragglers," Seamus narrated.

"What about Zabini and Parkinson?" Neville asked.

"I don't see them," Seamus said, shaking his head.

"We should wait a bit," Dean said. "They'll be here soon."

And so they waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly an hour later, the three of them still stood in the alley outside the Three Broomsticks, continuously checking to see if the others had shown up yet.

Finally, Dean said, "I don't think they're coming."

"Should we do it anyway?" Seamus asked. He had been trying to get Neville to take out the bubble ever since he had grown bored, which was approximately thirty seconds after they had decided to wait.

"Ron really wanted to get Parkinson," Dean pointed out.

"Some is better than none, I say," Neville said, withdrawing the sparkly bubble from his pocket.

"Funny, that's what she said," Seamus teased, then cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. "Right! Let's do it!" He pulled the knickers out of his back pocket and tugged them over his face, catching a glance at his reflection in the window.

Neville and Dean took one look at him, standing there in the alley, knickers askew, eyes peaking out from one leg hole and his hair sticking up at funny angles out of the other, and doubled over in laughter. "What?" he asked. "WHAT?"

"Oh, I can't believe you fell for that!" Dean howled.

"Knickers for masks!" Neville giggled.

Seamus ripped the knickers off his head, face growing red. "I hate you guys."

"Ask who they belong to," Neville said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Just ask."

Seamus looked down at the tartan silk knickers. Tartan. He only knew one female in the entire universe who was predisposed to tartan. His worst fears had been confirmed. McGonagall wore party pants. "Oh, I REALLY hate you guys!"

Dean slapped his knee. "You are so gullible, mate!"

Seamus wadded up the knickers and threw them in Dean's face. "Someday you're going to wake up with evil monkeys in your trunk, and who do you think will be laughing then? Huh?"

"Evil monkeys? Can they be trained to revise?" Neville asked, panting to catch his breath.

"Oh, fuck you all," Seamus said, fishing around in his pockets for something else to throw.

Dean pulled out a stack of proper masks, the kind that Healers wore when they handled anything particularly infectious. Dean cast an Impervious Charm on three of the masks and handed them around. "These are to keep the spores out," he explained, putting his own mask on. "And this," he said, rapping Seamus smartly on the top of the head, making him feel like he'd just been submerged in cold water, "is to keep our arses out of Azkaban."

"They wouldn't send us to Azkaban for this. We've hardly--" Seamus broke off, holding up his transparent-seeming hand in front of his face. "Oh, this is bloody brilliant!"

"We're still solid, just camouflaged with our surroundings," Dean explained quickly from somewhere in front of Seamus. "We need to be fast. I don't know how long this will last."

"You know, I heard invisible is the new black," Neville's disembodied voice said somewhere off to Seamus' left.

"What have you been smoking and why haven't you been sharing?" Seamus asked softly.

No one answered.

"Guys?" he said. "Hey, guys?" He looked all around, but of course that wouldn't work. Seamus sighed loudly. "I freaking hate those guys." He smashed his face to the window of the Three Broomsticks, watching as a shaft of light fell into the pub, presumably from the door opening. There was a bit of a scuffle in the middle of the room when a tray of drinks went flying. "There's Neville," Seamus muttered.

Then something very spectacular happened. Seamus barely saw the bubble appear out of nowhere before it slowly dropped on the very table that so many Slytherins were sitting around.

He held his breath as the bubble landed on the table, bounced twice, then popped, sending streams of sparkliness into the nostrils of everyone seated at the table.

For a second, no one in the pub moved. A shaft of sunlight appeared, then disappeared, and Seamus heard Neville's distinctive giggle as he entered the alley.

"Was it brilliant? Is it working?" Neville asked, suddenly at Seamus's side, or very near him, at any rate.

"Wait for it... wait for it..." Dean said near Seamus's other ear.

"You pricks totally left me hanging," Seamus grumbled, elbowing what he certainly hoped were Dean's and Neville's ribs.

Neville inhaled sharply. "It's starting."

Inside the Three Broomsticks, the Slytherins were screaming and yelling, throwing their bottles and books and whatever else they had with them into the air, at what Seamus presumed was their vivid hallucination of a dragon dive-bombing them. Malfoy stood frozen for a moment in the middle of the room, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, before several hands reached up from under the table to pull him down. There were shrieks and yells as half the pub's patrons were desperately trying to make it to the door, knocking over everyone in their path.

"You know, I don't believe you ever told us how long these hallucinations last," Dean said thoughtfully.

"Oh, it depends," Neville said.

"Depends on what?" Seamus asked.

"On how long they're afraid of dragons," Neville said darkly, and then snickered. "Let's take these charms off and bounce into Honeydukes. I am feeling very much in the mood for a blood lollipop."

After a few logistic problems, Dean cracked their heads again with his wand, making them reappear. Hastily, they pulled off their masks, grinning at one another as they turned around in the alleyway. And suddenly, Seamus figured out what the flaw in The Plan had been.

For there stood Hermione Granger, hands on hips with a very strange expression on her face, holding the Invisibility Cloak in one hand.

"Oh, fuck me rotten," Seamus groaned.

"I don't suppose one of you has a perfectly reasonable explanation for what you are doing?" Hermione asked.

"I think we could take her," Neville whispered out of the side of his mouth.

Seamus looked at Neville like Neville was crazy, which, on balance, he probably was, but sometimes with Seamus it was hard to gauge.

"This isn't what it looks like," Dean said quickly.

Seamus glanced back into the Three Broomsticks, where several tables had been upended, and a small pack of Slytherins had formed around Malfoy, hurling hexes at their imaginary foe. Seamus was paralyzed with fear and very much wishing he had his Pulley System of Doom at the moment.

"Enlighten me."

"Well, see..."

"We, er..."

"Hermione," Neville began, walking towards her slowly, "you don't really think we did anything wrong, do you?"

"Dumbledore will be here any minute, and he'll want answers," Hermione said coolly.

"Hermione," Dean said softly. "We didn't do anything wrong. This is just karma, that's all. You've got the wrong idea, here."

"It's not up to me to decide," Hermione countered. "Someone seriously could have gotten hurt."

Neville stopped walking. "If you truly thought that, you would have stopped us sooner."

"Don't be daft," Hermione said. "The three of you--"

CRACK! CRACK!

Seamus spun around in the alley to find Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini suddenly standing there, having clearly Apparated in from places unknown, covered with soot. "Where the bloody hell have you two been?" Seamus demanded.

Pansy and Blaise looked at each other, and then at Seamus. "I don't know what you mean," Blaise said, brushing off his cloak.

"We've been here the entire time," Pansy said, slapping at her cloak, and then added, "You ponce."

"No, actually, because if you had been here, you would have been in there," Seamus said, pointing through the window into the Three Broomsticks.

"Of course we were in there," Pansy said quickly. "We slipped out the back door. Just now."

Seamus smirked. "You mean to tell me that you didn't just Apparate here, which is against the rules, as I'm sure you know, but that you were, in fact, in there the whole time with your housemates?"

"Seamus," Neville hissed warningly.

"Absolutely," Blaise said, looking sideways at Pansy. "Why would you ever think otherwise?"

"Oh, I don't know," Seamus said, shrugging. "Maybe because the rest of your slimy housemates were in there getting what was coming to them, and we waited a bloody hour for the two of you to show up!" Seamus laughed. "AHA! Who's the ponce now?"

Dean groaned and hit himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. "Seamus, you dolt."

"What?" he asked innocently. "They're just as busted as we are."

"Oh, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" Hermione said, arms crossed over her chest.

"Well, you know what they say," Dean said with a sigh, "when it rains..."

* * *

And I'm leaning on the broken fence between past and present tense.

Draco wished that it would pour: a monstrous rainstorm with lightning like fissures in the sky and thunder like the booming footfalls of stampeding horses. A violent production, something epic-worthy, not unlike the storm in third year, when Potter had fallen off his broom and nearly died. Draco was in the mood for something grand. He could feel it in the itch of his muscles connecting to the bones, stretching and flexing as he rotated his ankle, watching the silhouette of his own foot against the firelight.

"Stupid Potter," Draco spat as he sat on the leather couch in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room late Friday night. The problem wasn't really Potter. Well, everything that could go wrong in his life could more than likely be traced back to Potter, of course. However, this went deeper.

Again, he couldn't sleep. He'd been having the same recurring night vision--it wasn't really a dream, just the same scene played out before his eyes when he stared up at the black canopy of his bed--since Valentine's Day and the prank. Late at night, in the damp stillness of the dormitory, his thoughts returned to the Opaleye, the dragon he had seen in the Three Broomsticks. It was a beautiful dragon, with iridescent scales like mother of pearl and glittering, multicolored, pupil-less eyes, and when it had looked at him, he had seen his own reflection staring back. He had seen those eyes before, in the picture books he had read as a child, and they had frightened him to his core like nothing before. Even with all their color, they had seemed dead to him, like something angry from the beyond, fathomless.

There had only been one thing that had ever frightened him more than the stare of the Opaleye, and that was his father. Not his father as Draco had known him in his childhood, for that man had been a proud and powerful man, annoying and condescending as any father, but someone to look up to. The Lucius Malfoy that Draco had met the morning of Boxing Day had not been that man at all. He had been only a shadow of the father he had known, grown weary and slight, with madness encroaching on the pale blue irises of his eyes just as the white dust from Gringotts turned the hems of his black robes an ash gray. He had spoken with his father that day of the things to come, for Lucius Malfoy rarely reckoned with the past, and Draco had been taken aback. He had not seen his father for a year and a half, and all the man could talk about was the Dark Lord's plan for the world, how when everything was over, Draco could have anything he wanted, and the world would be as it should.

No, "How are you doing, son?" or, "Congratulations on making Head Boy." Not a single, "You've grown taller." Just a sycophantic roll call of pretty promises and pricey pledges, and that look to his father as of a madman in Malfoy robes. To put it bluntly, it had been damn spooky.

Now, Draco was not brave, but nor was he stupid. Seeing his father like that, barely recognizable as the man Draco had grown up admiring, had a sobering effect on him. This war was not about a grudge match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. This war was about people's lives and families, about honor and pride. It had done something terrible to Lucius Malfoy, something that Draco was still trying to understand. The Dark Lord had claimed his father, that much was obvious, and that day in the back of Draco's mind had bloomed the thought that it was only a matter of time before he, too, was claimed.

But if that was the power of the Dark Lord, to reduce his followers to mere shadows of themselves, then perhaps Draco wanted no part of it. He knew it was not that simple. He could not just cast aside his heritage and every idea of right and wrong he had held true his entire life, but nor could he defy his most basic instinct, that of survival.

Another troubling thing about this entire affair was the slow-dawning realization that maybe Pansy had been right. After Draco had woken up from the coma, feeling so helpless and alone, he had clung to her, and she had been there for him, and it had almost been like it used to be. But Draco's world had turned upside down at Christmas, and Pansy had rejected him, and it became obvious that things could never be as they were. Too much had happened, and Draco knew that it wasn't only Pansy who had changed. She had always been brash and independent, but she knew him better than anyone, and if she could love a Weasley more than him, then what was the world coming to? Not that he didn't adore Teeny--she was cute and came from a good family--but Pansy meant something to him, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself. She was his childhood sweetheart, if one were to get sentimental about it, and something about her reminded him of what had been, even maybe what could have been.

What he wanted more than anything was a return to normalcy. He wanted things to be simple and easy again. He wanted to be a normal boy who played Quidditch and necked with his girlfriend in the common room, not some angsty wanker who stayed up late at night brooding over his own fate and that of the universe, resigning himself to a life of isolation and desertion.

"Draco?" Teeny's voice echoed in the empty room like a dripping tap. It jarred him.

"What?" he snapped, half-turning to look at her over his shoulder.

Teeny stopped halfway across the common room. She was wearing a white satin nightie that fell just above her knees, but no dressing gown. Her nipples were pert under the thin material, and her hair was a mess from sleeping. "It's three in the morning."

"Yes," Draco said, turning back around, even though he had had no idea what time it was, nor really cared. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I woke up," Teeny said simply, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand and taking a seat next to him on the couch. "Couldn't you sleep?"

Draco shook his head.

"What's the matter?" Teeny asked softly, tucking his hair behind his ear.

He swatted her hand away and glared at her. "Nothing."

Teeny looked at him crossly. "God, Draco. I was just trying to help."

"There's nothing to help," Draco said darkly, crossing his arms over his chest and staring moodily into the fire again.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" Teeny asked, settling down further beside him and laying her head on his shoulder.

Draco rolled his eyes, even though he knew she couldn't see it. "Are you deaf? I said nothing was the matter."

"Fine," Teeny said angrily.

They sat in silence for another few minutes, during which Teeny succeeded in tucking her legs completely under her nightie, thoroughly annoying Draco in the process. She was such a distraction sometimes.

"Would you quit fidgeting?" he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"Sorry," Teeny said. "What's with you, anyway?"

"Nothing," Draco said, and then added, "I was thinking."

"About tomorrow? You shouldn't worry about the Quidditch match. Gryffindor will get theirs," Teeny said, raising her head to look at him. "That last banner is particularly scathing."

"I wasn't thinking about tomorrow," Draco said petulantly.

"Oh," Teeny said, putting her head back down. "Then what were you thinking?"

"Thoughts," Draco said coolly, shrugging the shoulder Teeny was leaning on.

Teeny sighed heavily. "You know, I don't even know why I bother sometimes."

Draco snorted. "Because I'm handsome, rich, and Head Boy. You couldn't do any better."

Teeny playfully pinched his arm. "You are so full of yourself."

"You would be too, if you had hair like this," he said, smirking slightly.

Teeny laughed lightly and kissed him on the cheek. "I can't believe they only got five days detention," she said lightly.

"They should have been expelled," Draco agreed, dragging his fingers through her hair.

"They should have been sent to Azkaban," Teeny said haughtily.

The word sent chills up his spine, and his fingers caught on a snarl in her hair. "Stupid Potter."

"Shhh." Teeny's left hand trailed down the front of Draco's pajamas from where it was resting on his chest to his lap. "No more talk about Gryffindor."

"Mmm," Draco said, putting his other hand on top of hers and slowly moving it down. His eyelids flickered shut as his head lolled back. Things should be so simple. No more Gryffindor.

Teeny nibbled gently on his earlobe. "I've been sixteen for a while now."

"Mmhmm," Draco said. Two weeks after his sixteenth birthday, his father was sent to Azkaban. "And?"

"We are all alone." She pulled gently on the drawstring of his pajama bottoms, and he felt the knot loosen and give.

Draco opened one eye a slit and looked at her through his pale lashes. "Sometimes more than others."

"Just you and me," Teeny said coyly, slipping her hand under his waistband.

"Agh!" Draco said, eyes flying open. "Your fingers are cold!"

Teeny pressed her mouth to his, kissing him roughly as she continued with her hand. Draco kissed her back, sliding his tongue into her mouth, sour from sleep. After a few seconds, her hand warmed up and things started to feel good. One of his hands cupped her bottom while the other slipped under the neckline of her nightie. She moaned into his mouth as he pulled the thin gown off her shoulder and palmed her breast.

He broke the kiss and looked at her, heat coursing through his veins as he pulled her into his lap. Her eyes mirrored his lust, and her lips were swollen from kissing and parted as she panted slightly. "Draco," she whined.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he ground up against her, feeling her heat through the fabric of her knickers and his pajama bottoms. His hands were planted on her hips, directing her movements back and forth against him. The drag of her pelvic bone was an aching bliss as his eyes slid shut and he leaned his head back. The sofa was creaking as they moved, an odd sort of melody in the friction of his back and her knees against the leather.

Teeny kissed along his neck and he bent to give her better access. Pansy could make him lose his mind just by kissing him in the right spot below his ear. It was a pity Teeny hadn't figured that out yet.

"Lower," he whispered roughly.

Teeny nibbled a little lower on his neck, and he shifted again on the sofa, bringing her down sharply. She moaned against his skin, and he felt her flesh shiver in his hands.

He ground up into her again, readjusting his neck, hoping that she would find that spot, but her lips ghosted the other way, and Draco mentally sighed. He was Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and very well near the top of his class, yet something as simple as this eluded him. Still, he thought as Teeny whimpered into his ear and he pulled her against him, a little distraction was a welcome help.

* * *

And I'm losing all those stupid games that I swore I'd never play. And it almost feels okay.

"A little help, Severus?" Minerva hissed, wand out, squinting into the darkening spring sky. There was a thunderstorm rolling in, and by the looks of it, it would be quite a show.

Everyone was running about like fools, waving wands, yelling, ordering the students back up to the castle until they could Sort This Out. Madam Hooch was on her broomstick, trying to get Neville down, but every time she closed in on him, her broom would jerk back roughly, nearly casting her off.

Severus sighed, looking up at one of the most disturbing things he'd ever seen. And he had seen his fair share of disturbing things. Like Avery's guacamole sculptures. Or MacNair playing tennis in white short-shorts. Or McGonagall in her skivvies his first year as a professor. Some images could ruin a man.

Like Neville Longbottom tied naked to the middle Quidditch hoop on the morning of the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match.

Severus cocked his head, inspecting the handiwork of the culprit. "Those knots appear quite secure," Severus said to Albus, who was standing next to him, similarly with arms crossed over chest and that faintly amused, partly perplexed look on his face.

"Quite," Albus agreed. "I doubt the boy is in danger of falling, although electrocution might become an issue if we are blessed with lightning."

"Hmm," Severus mused. "I find this entire situation quite absurd."

"Amusing," Albus said softly, "but absurd, yes."

"Oh, don't be such a prude, Rolanda!" Minerva cried. "If you are so offended, you can fly blindfolded, as you've demonstrated on many occasions!"

Madam Hooch landed on the grass beside Minerva. "It's not that. I can't get any closer to the boy. He's apparently warded."

"Well, I never in all my years!" Minerva spat, holding onto her hat with one hand as she looked up at Longbottom. "Warded? But how will Weasley protect the hoops if they're warded?"

Severus sighed. "I suppose someone ought to go up there and inspect this situation further."

"Are you volunteering?" Albus asked, turning to him with an entertained expression.

"Hardly," Severus spat. "By 'someone', I clearly meant 'someone else'."

"Ah, the subtle science of delegation," Albus chuckled. "You will make a fine Headmaster one day."

"Thank you, sir," Severus said, raising one hand as a visor against the weak sun, momentarily glimpsed in the break of some rather black clouds. "It appears Longbottom has also managed to get himself written upon."

Albus smiled fondly. "Ah, that reminds me of the staff Christmas party in '89. Do you remember?"

Severus shuddered. "Pomona's sense of humor is rather filthy. The look of horror on Filius's face in the morning was undoubtedly worth his weight in galleons."

"Good times," Albus said, and then rubbed his hands together. "Now, where have they scampered off to?" He looked around the grounds, and Severus, following his gaze, spotted the Creevey brothers bouncing around on the hill. "Ah, yes."

Albus beckoned the two boys over to where the professors were gathered at the foot of the Quidditch posts. "Dennis, Colin," Albus said, pointing up to where Neville was strung up, bed sheets tied to each of his four limbs, "could you possibly lend us a hand?"

"Of course!" they said in unison.

Without trepidation, the two Gryffindors began climbing, locking their arms around the posts and squirming their way up fifty feet into the air to the very top. They were up there for several long moments while the professors watched with bated breath, except for Severus, of course, who found himself becoming rather annoyed.

"Well, this is peculiar," Remus said, walking up behind Severus and Albus.

Severus glanced over his shoulder at the werewolf who was sporting a rather obnoxious and motley red and gold scarf. Severus rolled his eyes. "Come to see the match?"

"Of course!" Remus said, stepping in between Severus and Albus.

Severus took a step away.

"It seems one of your former students has found himself in a spot of trouble," Albus said good-naturedly.

"I suppose he has," Remus said curiously, looking up at the hoop, from which the Creevey brothers were now descending. "I don't suppose you know who's behind this?"

"We can rule out the Hogsmeade Nudist Collective. They haven't used guerilla tactics like this in nearly thirty years," Albus said. "And bed sheets aren't really their style."

"If I am not mistaken," Remus said, "they have been much fonder of mass streaking."

Dumbledore nodded. "As you might recall from your school days."

"That was entirely James' idea," Remus said laughingly. "You will remember I had nothing to do with that shocking display."

Another fairly disturbing sight he had never been able to remove from his mind. Severus rolled his eyes again as the Creevey brothers alighted on the ground.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Colin explained, "The knots are tied magically, and we can't get them loose. Neville says he doesn't know how he got up there."

"Although he doesn't seem very bothered by the whole ordeal," Dennis added.

"He's all right, though?" Remus asked.

The Creevey brothers looked at each other. "He seems rather, well..." Colin began.

"High," Dennis finished. "Kept going on about how he could see his house from there."

"Which is ridiculous," Colin answered, "because he lives in Lancashire."

Dumbledore stroked his beard and nodded. "He didn't express any desire to come down?"

"Quite on the contrary, sir," Colin said, coloring slightly. "He told us to go away. Said we were ruining everything."

"Oh, good heavens," Severus said testily.

"Headmaster!" Minerva barked. "If we're to have this match before the storm sets in, we'll have to begin immediately." She had become quite wary of inclement weather conditions since that incident four years ago when Potter had almost fallen to his untimely doom.

Albus looked from Minerva to the Creevey brothers to Severus and finally to Remus.

"He doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger," Severus said.

"Perhaps someone could fetch him a cloak, though," Remus offered. "I suspect he might be a bit chilled."

"Quite right," Albus said. "Colin, have Madam Pomfrey bring a warming cloak from the hospital wing. We'll begin the match as soon as Mr. Longbottom is less stark."

"Albus!" Minerva cried. "You can't mean to leave him up there?"

"I AM SO HIGH RIGHT NOW!" Neville screamed, and then he broke out into a massive giggling fit.

"Right. Leave him up there," Minerva said as she began ordering about the rest of the staff.

"If you shall not be needing us, Headmaster, perhaps Remus and I should secure our seats in the boxes?" Severus asked, squinting up into the sky. "Does he read, 'You do not know the power of the pork tide'?"

"I think it's 'dark side'," Remus said thoughtfully.

"I do believe Remus is right," Albus said, and then waved them away. "We'll handle it from here. You two have some business that needs attending to."

Severus turned quickly, his robes whipping round as he did so. How he loved that sound. "Lupin," Severus said darkly.

"Severus," Remus returned. "I have some curious matters to discuss with you."

"That seems to be the theme of today," Severus said darkly.

Remus laughed. "That bad, eh?"

Severus began walking up the steps to the Quidditch boxes, thinking over his morning. He had dropped his toothbrush into the loo, sat in something suspiciously sticky, tripped going up the stairs, been mauled by a flock of Gryffindor first year girls that were apparently infatuated with him, and then spilled a fair dose of Maidenhair Tonic down his lucky robes, which meant he had had to change into his other lucky robes, which had faded from Intimidating Evil Black to Old Man Black. Oh, yes. And then he had stubbed his toe on the corner of the damn staff table after receiving that owl from Remus, asking him for a meeting. And now Longbottom.

"I've had worse," Severus grumbled, taking a prime seat in the middle of a row, about halfway up.

Remus paused at the end of the row.

Severus quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You don't want to sit any higher?" Remus asked.

"No," Severus said disdainfully. "I do not fancy a nosebleed."

Remus sighed and, tucking his robes tight around his body, walked sideways down the row, taking a seat next to Severus.

Severus looked down at how close Remus was sitting, gave the other man an imperious look, and scooted away from him several inches.

Remus coughed. "Right, well, as you may well know from speaking with the Headmaster, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, with the help of Ginny, are working on a project which involves some very advanced magic."

Severus nodded. "So I have heard."

"In order for their project to be successful, they will need the aid of yet another party. Hermione wrote to me asking if I could put her in contact with Nymphadora," Remus finished quietly.

Severus tore his eyes from the groups of students now making their way to the stands, many of whom were hooting and yelling up at Longbottom, and looked harshly at Remus. "Are you suggesting that we sacrifice one of our top assets for a project which, may I remind you, only has a slim chance of being successful?"

"But if it is successful--" Remus began, but Severus didn't give him a chance to finish.

"That is a very big if, and not a risk which I am wholly comfortable taking."

"I think Albus would agree that it is Nymphadora's risk to take," Remus said. "And the risk of exposure to the individuals involved would be minimal, whereas the possible benefits could be quite substantial."

Severus looked at Remus out of the corner of his eye. "Have you spoken with Nymphadora about this yet?"

Remus shifted in his seat. "Not yet. I thought it best to ask your opinion on the matter first, as she is under your direction."

"How very thoughtful."

"I try."

"This should be an interesting match, don't you think?" Albus said, flopping down in the seat next to Remus.

"Rather," Remus said. "I wonder whether Mr. Longbottom's presence will aid or deter Ron's goal keeping."

Severus snorted derisively. "It is quite distracting."

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" Neville cackled, his voice echoing due to the amphitheater effects of the pitch.

"He has his work cut out for him, doesn't he?" Albus said, nodding in the general direction of Ron, who had gathered his teammates around Madam Hooch at the base of the hoops and was now gesticulating wildly in the direction of Neville.

"Should Hufflepuff receive ten extra points for hitting our unfortunate Mr. Longbottom?" Severus quipped, pulling a small bag of almonds from his pocket.

"I think that rule only applies if the target is moving," Remus pointed out. "Did you bring enough of those for everyone, Severus?"

Severus begrudgingly held out the small bag to Remus, who took a handful, and to Albus, who plucked a few of the nuts off the top.

"Excellent foresight, as usual, Severus," Albus said. "Although I must admit, I prefer the candy-coated kind better."

"Of course," Severus said, bowing his head slightly.

"I find I like the chocolate-covered variety best," Remus said, munching on his snack.

Severus just glared.

The match eventually began, despite Neville still being bound to the Quidditch hoop and despite the protests from both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff houses. Severus was pleased to see that his own house had assembled to watch, seemingly rather amused by the entire situation. They were across the pitch and off to his right, with banners cheering on Hufflepuff, because of course if Gryffindor won, that would put them in the lead over Slytherin. It looked to him as though they had fashioned their banners themselves. Severus smiled to himself, inwardly quite proud that they were such an industrious group. There wasn't a useless one among them, unlike some houses.

Severus glanced at the section of the stands occupied by the Gryffindors. They were more trouble than any group of students Severus had yet seen pass over the threshold of Hogwarts. He had administered five straight days of detention to Finnegan, Thomas, and Longbottom--with three days each to Pansy and Blaise on top of it--and he was feeling rather the worse for wear. Longbottom, especially, was consistently difficult, but Severus hadn't been expecting the onslaught of Finnegan, who seemed lately on the verge of madness himself. Severus had been sure to assign the worst possible tasks to the three boys who had pulled such a dangerous prank on so many of his students. They had cleaned every dungeon classroom at least once, reorganized the storeroom, scrubbed all of the potion residue off the classroom tables, and collected enough rat spleens to last well into the next decade.

Yet, Severus still felt unsatisfied about their punishment. He had never actually cracked their cock and bull story about a special project they were working on for their Herbology exams and something about rescuing an escaped iguana named Bob. Severus had only listened to as much of the paltry excuse as was needed for him to establish that they were lying through their teeth, which, thankfully for him, had only been about thirty seconds. Although, even when he had confronted them about it they had not divulged the truth, even under threats of veritaserum and grading firstie parchments. They had remained in high spirits the entire time, as if... as if they were... mocking him. Severus was not one to stand for being mocked, especially by two twits and a chubby, crazed fiend.

He watched the game vaguely, not really very interested in the events. He cared about the outcome, of course, but not the actual happenings. Remus and Albus were talking amongst themselves about the progress of certain players, namely Potter and the Weasley girl, while Severus kept his eye on Zacharias Smith as the Hufflepuff captain carried the Quaffle up the middle of the field, past the Slytherin stands, the Weasley girl hot on his tail. Behind them, Severus saw the banners that the Slytherins held aloft flicker as the words changed to read something quite profane.

He did a double take, but the banners had already changed back.

"Did you see...?" Severus began, turning to Remus.

"Did I see what?" Remus asked.

Severus looked sideways across the pitch momentarily before refocusing his gaze on Remus. He probably just imagined it. Perhaps it was time for another dose of Maidenhair Tonic. "Weasley was obviously blatching Smith," Severus grumbled. "Hufflepuff should be given a penalty."

"Nonsense," Remus said vehemently, waving out at the pitch. "She is an aggressive flyer, to be sure, but I saw no evidence of blatching in that maneuver."

"She was too close," Severus said, glancing back at the Slytherin stands as the Gryffindor Chasers flew past, the Quaffle tucked securely under Weasley's arm. The banners flickered, the black and yellow writing changing to red and gold momentarily and implying something very coarse about the relationship between Seeker and Captain. This time the words held for a longer moment, long enough for Severus to read it quickly. "It was obviously blatching," Severus finished distractedly, watching as the letters changed back to the benign, "Go Hufflepuff!"

"Well, it's a good thing you're not refereeing this match," Remus said, huffing slightly. "Blind as a bat," he murmured under his breath.

Severus looked around, but he was apparently the only one who had seen anything unusual in the Slytherin stands. He turned his attention now to his students. Draco was laughing with Teeny and Theodore, the three of them standing together right at the front with the largest banner. Teeny had her wand out, foolish girl. On either end of the banner stood Vincent and Gregory, obviously holding it in place, and a few rows behind Draco, behind the swell of people clapping the Head Boy on the back, stood Blaise and Pansy, arms crossed over their chests, looking rather pleased with themselves.

Ah, the taste of revenge on a Saturday. Like tart spring apples.

Severus sneered mostly to himself, running the tip of one pointed finger around the crook on the right side of his mouth. Pansy and Blaise. Not entirely an unexpected pair of delinquents, however, seeing as how they were among his favorites, even if he would never let on to that fact. They had a certain flair for ingenious individualism that Severus respected. They were resourceful and clever, never allowing themselves to fall victim to circumstance.

Although, admittedly, he would prefer that Pansy drew less attention to herself and that Blaise weren't so damn dramatic about everything. But what could he expect from a fallen princess and a shadowy opportunist? He was still rather dismayed about the fact that they had Apparated out of bounds last weekend, to locations unknown. Of course, they had told him that they had merely gone home to pick up school supplies, but he knew when he was being lied to. He had let it pass, of course, knowing as he did that all would become known to him in time.

Patience and tenacity are worth more than twice their weight of cleverness, Snape quoted to himself as he watched the Hufflepuff Chasers fly up the field again, his eye snagging on the banners, which changed to read...

That is entirely disgusting, Severus thought. Perhaps he should put an end to this before the rest of the audience grew the wiser.

"Now, that is really a generalization," Albus said thoughtfully.

Severus sighed. The gig, as Professor Tonks would say, was up.

"Quite. And besides, Chizpurfles generally don't infest humans. Especially not in the manner to which they allude," Remus said thoughtfully. "Though a friend of mine did have a problem with that once, owing to a wayward hex, as I'm sure Severus would remember."

Albus looked across Remus and raised his eyebrows curiously at Severus.

He made a slight choking sound. "Should I put an end to this, Headmaster?"

"I'm wondering if your students' imaginations know no bounds, Severus," Albus mused. "Perhaps I should direct Professor Grubbly-Plank to discuss Chizpurfle infestations in her next lesson."

"Mmm," Severus hummed in agreement. He bit down on an especially bitter almond, and that's when he saw, quite clearly, the banner change again, this time to read, "How many Hufflepuffs does it take to save Harry Potter?" and below that, "I don't know. Ask Cedric Diggory." Beneath that, it read, in bright red lettering, "Oh, wait. You can't because he's WORM FOOD."

Albus was on his feet, and the game all but stopped as a hush fell over the crowd. The Hufflepuff stands were particularly still. The Gryffindor Quidditch team hovered in the middle of the field, all eyes on Potter.

"That is ENOUGH!" Albus yelled, and his voice echoed in the stadium. He took out his wand and vanished the banner. "I will see your entire house in their common room this evening, Professor Snape," he said sternly.

Severus bowed his head in acquiescence.

Then the most curious thing happened. All at once, it seemed, the Gryffindor team began pulling at their robes, scratching their arms and backs and legs. The two younger Chasers began to earnestly tear at their collars. The Creevey brothers, on either side of the pitch, were using their Beater bats to get at their lower backs. Weasley, guarding his hoops, nearly fell off his broom as he raked his hands up and down his ribs.

"Bilbox powder on their Quidditch robes?" Remus said disdainfully, glaring at Severus.

"Perhaps I should rescind that comment regarding your students' imaginations," Albus said, all humor gone.

"Perhaps it is merely a question of hygiene," Severus suggested haughtily.

The onlookers were now muttering, and the announcer, a sixth year Ravenclaw, was alluding to every manner of foul play. Minerva, particularly, seemed beside herself with barely-contained rage.

"It will all be over soon," Albus said as Potter plummeted, diving after the Snitch right in front of them.

Potter was well ahead of the Hufflepuff Seeker, and within seconds, he alighted on the ground, Snitch firmly in hand, and then ripped off his Quidditch robes, throwing them down onto the soggy grass. He glared at the Slytherin stands just as the first clap of thunder sounded across the lake.

It was all over, then, and the rest of the Gryffindor team, having won by a sound fifty points, landed near Potter on the pitch, similarly tossing off their robes. En masse, they started toward the Slytherin stands, accusatory shouts echoing around them.

Madam Hooch was there, of course, blowing her whistle and corralling the Gryffindors. Meanwhile, the Slytherins were hastily leaving the stadium.

Albus turned to head down to the pitch, giving Severus a very serious look before he went.

Severus glared at his students from his seat in the stands. He could kiss his dreams of Headmaster goodbye. Anytime Albus gave him That Look, it was definitely a bad sign.

* * *

Circumnavigate this body of wonder and uncertainty. Armed with every precious failure and amateur cartography, I breathe in deep before I spread those maps out on my bedroom floor.

It wasn't a bad sign. But it wasn't a particularly good sign, either.

Professor Tonks made her way to the Headmaster's office, humming an old Weird Sisters tune under her breath as she went. She had an idea what this was about, and she wasn't particularly eager to test that intuition. Meetings involving Professor Snape never went well on principle. It wasn't that she particularly disliked the Potions professor, but from her own time at Hogwarts, she had developed certain opinions of the man that had not especially been resolved during her time as his colleague. One of these opinions was that the man was an insufferable prat, hell-bent on belligerence, or whatever the current Slytherin catchphrase was that had been developed in order to cast said sadistic intent into a positive light.

Of course, she had quickly adapted to her new position at Hogwarts. She had found it all rather fun at first, having a front row seat to the daily Hormones and Angst Variety Show. She would never in her life wish to relive her own adolescence, God no, but from an objective outside viewpoint, the entire charade was rather amusing, with the girls and the boys and the coy glances and fragile egos. Sometimes, she just wanted to tell them that it would all be over soon and that everyone had, at one point or another, gone through the exact same thing.

Take, for instance, the relationship between Pansy and Ron. If the gossip in the teacher's lounge was any indication, two fiery dispositions such as theirs were never as equally matched. But what girl didn't let her heart lead her off her path at Pansy's age? And what boy in his teens didn't want the unattainable? It made perfect sense to her, of course, but then again, she reckoned perhaps she understood these students better than they themselves did, at times. After all, it was part of the reason she was brought into this position.

But it had soon become obvious that being a professor was not just about the students, regardless of what nonsense the governors would have one believe. Negotiating the politics of the staff lounge alone took her several weeks and caused many headaches-- Filius liked his chair by the window, Irma had major issues with the other members of the staff leaving their tea cups out all afternoon, and Wilhelmina warded her tobacco pouch when she left it unsupervised. Circumnavigating the egos of her co-workers, however, was something she wasn't sure she'd ever quite get the hang of, Severus most notably.

The man was undeniably an arse. Nonetheless, an arse for which she begrudgingly had a fair amount of respect, which is why she had decided, rather last minute, not to faff off the missive from Albus requesting her presence this evening.

She rapped twice on the door to his office before opening it. She was several minutes late on purpose, owing to the fact that she hadn't wanted to disturb the Headmaster's nightly lessons with Harry, which was why she was a bit shocked to see not only the black-haired Gryffindor, but several of his friends as well, sitting in overstuffed chairs around Dumbledore's desk.

"Sorry I'm late," she said curiously, looking quizzically at Minerva, who was sitting off to one side of the room with her arms crossed, a look of irritation on her face as Albus and Severus stepped into the room from an adjoining private study.

"Professor Tonks," Dumbledore greeted warmly. "Do please have a seat." He waved his wand and another chair appeared beside Minerva.

She sat obediently and gave the Deputy Headmistress a bewildered look.

The older woman rolled her eyes and shifted in her seat. "Albus, I am not quite sure I understand what this is all about."

Albus offered them the candy dish. "Sherbet lemon?"

Andromeda happily took one and popped it into her mouth. She did prefer Fizzing Whizbees, of course.

"You know I do not care for sweets," Minerva bristled.

Albus held the dish out and gave her a look.

She sighed and plucked one from the dish, tossing it over her shoulder the minute he turned his back to offer the sweets to the rest of the assemblage.

"The reason I have asked you all here tonight is because a situation has arisen which I believe deserves our collaborative consideration," Albus said, glancing quickly at the clock on his mantle. "As soon as Remus arrives--"

He trailed off as the flames in his fireplace glowed green and Remus stepped out.

"I see we are all here, then?" Remus said as he brushed a trail of ashes from his robes, looking around the room at Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Harry, and the professors. "Professor Tonks. Good to see you again."

She smiled at him. "Likewise," she said around her sherbet lemon. And it truly was, for his stubble had grown in, giving him that ruggedly handsome, devil-may-care, bookworm by day, rogue Death Eater hunter by night sort of look, which, as she understood, made certain young women go a bit wobbly in the knees. She cleared her throat and smoothed her robes over her knee.

Albus sat down behind his desk, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands in his lap. "I will yield the floor to you, Remus, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Remus said, sitting on the edge of Albus's desk, casting a warm glance in Andromeda's direction.

Severus audibly sighed.

"As some of you may know," Remus began, "certain students have been working on a most interesting project involving an artifact from my own days at Hogwarts."

Severus scoffed under his breath and uncrossed and recrossed his legs in the other direction. Albus looked at him over his spectacles.

"Harry and his friends believe that they may be able to alter this artifact, the Marauder's Map, in order to provide an added measure of security during these dark times which are upon us."

Severus scoffed again, and Minerva nudged her elbow, smirking at her slightly. The entire Slytherin house had been chided Saturday night following the Quidditch match, and the talk in the lounge lately had been that Severus had been spending an inordinate amount of time in his private study, pouting. Apparently, Albus had been too disappointed in the Potions master to scold him directly, but everyone knew how Severus vied for the Headmaster's approval. Disappointment coming from Albus was the one thing that stung him the most. Anyone who knew anything about Severus Snape knew that.

"However, in order to unlock and thereby alter the effects of the spells used to create the map, a crucial ingredient is needed. Whether or not this ingredient should be made available to them is the topic at hand." Remus nodded to Hermione, and the Head Girl sat up a little straighter in her chair, if that were possible. From a pile of parchments on her lap, she withdrew a beaten and yellowed, folded bit that looked like it had led a very hard life.

"Due to some unforeseen circumstances," Hermione said, glancing at Ron, who colored slightly, "one of our key ingredients, the blood of someone connected with Sirius Black, one of the original casters of the spells used to create the Marauder's Map, eludes us." She glanced at Professor Tonks, and her stomach dropped. "We were hoping that we might involve your daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, so that we can unlock the magics of the map."

Andromeda rolled the candy in her mouth and looked around the room. Everyone was looking at her. "Well," she began, a forced diplomacy in her voice, "that might be difficult, of course, owing to the fact that her attentions are currently employed elsewhere. Wouldn't you agree, Professor Snape?"

Severus looked at her thoughtfully. "The Headmaster and I have agreed that the choice ultimately rests with her."

"I see," she said, settling back into her chair. Well, I'll be damned, she thought. "Professor McGonagall?"

"Perhaps we could procure the ingredient and bring it to Hogwarts for use in the spell," she said slowly, glancing at the Headmaster.

"We thought of that," Ginny said quickly, "only she has to be here when we actually cast the spells."

Andromeda locked eyes with Albus, who was looking at her carefully.

"Which could take days," Harry added.

"Or weeks, at the rate we're going," Ron said darkly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny said hotly. "We'll have it worked out soon enough."

"There are certain risks, of course," Albus interrupted, not taking his eyes off her. "However, after discussing the issue at length with Mr. Potter, it seems to me that these risks are negligible in relation to the proposed benefits of this project."

"Risks?" she said, her mouth having gone dry.

"It would mean taking Nympha--Tonks--away from her other duties while the changes are made to the map," Remus said helpfully.

"And thereby exposing her," Severus added gravely.

Andromeda looked from Albus to Severus. "Do you think it is worth it, though?"

"If the map works the way Mr. Potter hopes it will, the benefits would outweigh the risks, as Professor Dumbledore has intimated," he said dryly. "If it works."

"And how will it work, exactly?" she asked.

"In theory," Hermione began, eyes bright, "the map will work as an early detection in the event of an attack, as well as alerting us to any harmful activities that might be going on inside the walls of Hogwarts. And, of course, it will show us the location of Harry and everyone else."

"Do you think the chance of an attack is so great?" Minerva asked.

"We certainly can't rule it out," Remus said.

"And my daughter's blood is necessary? There isn't another way?" Andromeda asked protectively. "I do not wish to endanger her if it is unnecessary."

"We've explored other avenues," Hermione said shortly, "without success."

"Draco?" Andromeda proposed hopefully.

"Apparently, he is not to be trusted," Severus said.

"Not without reason," Remus said quickly.

Minerva looked at Andromeda gravely. "I agree that involving young Mr. Malfoy in this project could prove hazardous."

"And my blood?" she offered.

"We need someone of this generation," Hermione said. "And because some of our connections are tenuous, we've determined that a strong link, such as that with your daughter, is the best."

"So, Nymphadora is the only hope," Andromeda said with resignation.

"So it would seem," Severus said.

She sighed. The gig was up. "It's time, isn't it?"

Albus nodded.

"Time?" Harry asked curiously.

She rose from her chair, running a hand over her robes to smooth them. She took a deep breath. "You are sure there isn't another way?"

"What do you mean, time?" Harry asked again.

Albus shook his head gravely. "I think we all agree we need Nymphadora for this."

"All right," she said, stepping into the center of the room. "If you're sure." She hadn't wanted it to happen this way. She was meant to protect them, cloaked as she was, hidden, a secret, like so many other things in this war that they, Harry and the others, could not even begin to know.

"Now, don't be upset," Albus cautioned.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, glancing from Andromeda to Albus.

"Shh." She willed the change then, her eyes locked on Harry as she did so, feeling her body shift and pull before settling into its original skin. It had been so long since she'd felt the weight of her own limbs, so long since she'd seen her own face looking back at her in the mirror. And to be frank, she had been rather enjoying the masquerade. It wasn't everyday that a daughter was able to live her mother's life.

Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron inhaled sharply in unison, as if on cue, as she looked at them with her own eyes--hazel, she had decided.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said, her mouth rising in a grin.

While the others sat mutely in shock, eyes wondrous and disbelieving, Ron nudged Hermione with his knee. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

Hermione grinned slyly, holding up the map. "I had an inkling."

* * *

Leaving. Wave goodbye. Losing, but I'll try with the last ways left to remember. Sing my imperfect offering.

"... and he had ink EVERYWHERE!" Seamus said to Neville and Dean, wrapping up whatever story he had been telling with a peal of laughter just as Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron stepped through the portrait hole.

Harry glared at them, his usual Get Out of Here glare, and their laughter ebbed as Dean stood.

"We were just on our way to bed," Dean said quickly, and the other two boys hastily followed him up the stairs to the dormitory, leaving Harry alone to discuss the rather alarming events of the previous hour with his most trusted friends.

Harry walked slowly over to the window, looking out at the perfectly calm night. He saw, in the reflection on the glass, Ron and Hermione slump down into their usual chairs by the fire while Ginny flopped onto the sofa. "You knew," he said. "You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"I looked at the map," Hermione said, her tone exasperated. "It wasn't exactly rocket science."

"Thanks for cluing the rest of us in," Ron said grumpily.

Harry turned from the window, arms crossed over his chest. He was tired.

"Ron," Ginny said softly, though her eyes were on Harry. "You could have seen it for yourself. Any of us could have."

"I haven't been the one hoarding the map all this time! In fact, I haven't seen it since Christmas, when she nicked it from Harry while he was in the hospital!"

Tired of all of it.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said.

"Don't tell me to shut up," Ron said angrily. "You should have told us!"

"Ron, you are blowing this out of proportion." Hermione sighed. "As usual."

Ron opened his mouth and shut it several times, going from tomato red to maroon. "If you knew, why did you make me ask Pansy, then?"

Hermione flipped her hair over her shoulder, seemingly unfazed. "I figured she had her reasons for remaining hidden."

"Oh, like Crouch? Good thinking, Hermione. That would have helped us out of a really tight spot when one of us ended up in the bottom of a trunk or dead!"

Harry felt a surge of anger course through him. He was tired of their arguing, tired of their petty insults, and tired of their pointless bickering.

"Just stop, both of you," Ginny said.

"Well, we all know now, so there's no point in arguing."

"I'm just saying--"

He was just so tired. The Quidditch match had really hit him hard--not just the match itself or the itching powder in their robes, but what they said about Cedric. Not that he had forgotten, but he already had to deal with it every day for the rest of his life as it was without the fucking Slytherins throwing it in his face any chance they had.

"It's been a long night," Ginny said, cutting Ron off and rising from the couch. "We can deal with this in the morning."

"Yeah, let's," Harry said, sharper than he had meant.

Hermione stood and sighed. "I've got to check my Arithmancy, anyway."

"Yeah, I'm knackered," Ron said as he got up. "Harry?"

They all turned to look at him. They always did that. "I'll be up soon," he said.

"All right," Ron said, stretching and yawning widely. "Just don't be too long. Remember, we've got to hand in that Defense assignment tomorrow. Professor Tonks--man, that's weird--pushed it back once already, so I'm sure she'd be really hacked off if we handed them in without proofreading them first."

The bottom of Harry's stomach dropped out. He had forgotten about the Defense assignment. He hadn't even opened his envelope to see what it was. Every time he had thought about it over the past two weeks, he had always assumed he had more time, and when the deadline had been extended due to the Slytherins' whining, he had blown it off yet again, continuing to pretend like he had it under control. Nobody needed to worry about him. "Right."

Hermione paused at the foot of the stairs. "Ginny, are you coming?"

"She'll be up in a minute," Harry said, his eyes locked on Ginny.

"Fine," Hermione said as she followed Ron up the stairs. They were whispering about something, although he couldn't be arsed to suss out what.

Ginny stood in front of the couch, not having moved since she stood. Her expression was half curious, half concerned. He walked slowly over to her and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. "What's up, Harry?"

Harry leaned back, his legs stretched out in front of him, and closed his eyes. "I don't think I can handle anymore surprises," he finally said. He felt Ginny settle back down on her end of the couch, her weight tipping the cushions ever so slightly.

"She probably should have told us," Ginny said softly, then sighed. "Can you believe it's been Tonks this entire time?"

Harry shrugged, eyes still closed. He took off his glasses, set them down in his lap, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I should have known. It makes sense, though, doesn't it?"

"I guess," Ginny said cautiously. "Although, with all that's been happening, you'd think they'd want her out in the field."

Opening his eyes a slit, he saw the blurred flames in the fireplace. Squinting like this, he could pretend to see faces in the fire. Sirius, Hagrid, his father. "Do you really think it makes any difference?"

Ginny was silent for a long moment. She pulled her feet up onto the couch. He could tell without looking that she was watching him. "Harry, what's the matter?"

"Would it sound too pathetic if I just said everything?" he asked, picking up his glasses finally and putting them back on his face. He looked at her, looking at him, and his expression softened.

"Yes and no," Ginny said thoughtfully.

Harry gave her a questioning look.

"Yes, because in general, that's a pretty pathetic thing to say," she said softly. "But no, because I think you really mean it."

"It's just--" he began, letting out a long, hissing breath and running a hand through his hair.

"What?" Ginny urged gently.

"I don't think I can do it anymore."

"Do what?"

He looked at her thoughtfully, not knowing how he could explain it, even to her. There was no one on the planet that could possibly understand what it was like to be him, to just live in his skin, to deal with everything he had to deal with and go on, day to day, with everything. A feeling of doom had been growing inside of him all year, egged on by bad dreams of fire and toppling stone, and when he looked at the world, he felt like he was standing on the brink of it, poised to fall backwards, away. There had been one moment of peace, though, amidst it all, but it had come to him only while he had been knocked out, floating, and that worried him more than anything. He had seen Sirius, and Hagrid, and his parents, and when he had come to, surprised to be alive, a new weight had settled in his bones. He just wanted it all to be over, and he could not justify that thought. "I'm just so tired."

"I know, Harry," she whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder, gently running her fingers along the collar of his tee shirt.

"How could you possibly?" he said, not unkindly. But really, how could she?

"You hardly eat. You barely sleep," she whispered, a fingertip tickling the skin on his neck. "It's like you're just going through the motions."

"Maybe I am," he said, barely audible. A lump was rising in his throat.

"You don't have to be."

"I don't know what else I can do," he said, turning into her touch. "Sometimes..."

"You can tell me," Ginny whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"I don't think it will make any difference," he whispered hoarsely.

She moved closer to him, her hand running up the back of his neck and into his hair. It was comforting and warm. "You're hurting, Harry. Anyone with eyes can see that."

He shrugged his shoulders and took a deep breath, fighting off the rising lump in his throat. "Ginny, I--"

She sat up on her knees and wrapped her arms around him, clasping her hands together on his other shoulder, one arm around the back of his neck and the other across his chest. He tucked his face into her forearm, burrowing his nose into her jumper, eyes squeezed tightly shut. She was pressed up against his side, and his hands moved from his lap to grasp her arm as she rested her chin on his shoulder, whispering into his ear, "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, even as the tears came, three wet slips down his face. She had nothing to apologize for. Her body shook against his, her sobs muffled in the curve of his neck. It was all so much, and he was so tired of not understanding it all, but Ginny was warm and soft, and he needed her, keenly, just then. It was overwhelming, the depth of it, how much he just needed, and he wasn't used to it. He was the one people were supposed to need, and it was too much for him, and he was just so very, very tired.

"It hurts me," she choked out softly into his ear, catching her breath when the worst of it had subsided, "when you hurt."

"I don't mean to hurt you," he said. He had never meant to hurt anyone.

Ginny half-laughed, half-sobbed. "It's not like that."

"How is it, then?" he asked her, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand.

"Harry, I care about you," she whispered, pulling away from him slowly, sitting down so close beside him that there was no place to put his arm, so he put it around her.

"I know," he said, tightening his arm around her slightly, pulling her closer so that she was leaning into him, her head on his shoulder.

"Do you?" she asked, lifting her head and pulling back to look at him. "Do you really?"

He looked down at her, at her wet eyes, and the tears still making their way down her face in silver tracks that shone in the firelight. She looked worried, almost afraid, almost as tired as he felt. His chest was all knotted up, seeing her look that way, with her bottom lip jutting out and slightly wobbly. "I think so," he whispered, lifting his hand to wipe at her tears with his thumb. Her face was warm, and when he touched her, her eyelids fluttered shut, tears clinging to her red eyelashes.

"Harry," she said when she opened her eyes again.

They were staring at each other in that way that people stare at each other right before they kiss in the movies, and he felt tingly and tense all over, anxious and anticipating. He felt comfortable with her, he always had on some level, not just because she was his best friend's little sister, but because she was his friend, too. She never pulled her punches, and she never said anything she didn't mean. He could trust that about Ginny. And sometimes, like tonight, it was as though she always knew just what to say and just when to say it, and now, as they sat silently looking at each other, that tension between them making his heart race, he had no idea just what to say to her. Something was happening. "Say something," he said.

"Is this the part where we kiss?" she said softly, her mouth quirking like she was suppressing a grin.

"Is it?" he whispered, wondering if he would always make girls cry. He leaned in a little bit, letting their noses touch just at the tip, and moved his hand from her cheek around under her ear, into her hair, which slipped through his fingers like water.

"I don't know," she said, lifting her face a little so that their noses bumped and bringing her hand around to the back of his neck.

"Maybe..." he said, letting his eyes close.

Her fingers twisted in his hair, and then she moved, her lips brushing his. "Maybe," she whispered.

He pressed his lips softly against hers, and for a second, he was sure he'd mucked it all up, what with all the crying and how maybe it'd all been built up too much.

But then she moved again, and her top lip settled into the groove under his top lip, and in that little bit of friction, he felt how soft her lips were, just like her hair was soft and her cheek was soft and her hand was soft on his neck. He parted his lips slightly, and she parted hers, sucking his bottom lip slightly into her mouth.

Her tongue licked out gently against his lips as they pulled away. He ran his own tongue across his bottom lip, tasting where her mouth had been, tasting the strawberry lip-gloss she always wore.

"Well, it's about bloody time," Ron said suddenly from the top of the stairs.

They quickly disentangled, looking furtively at each other. Ginny was quite pink, and he felt his own blush spread as she laughed quietly and said, "Ron, you ruin everything."