Refraction

"Innocence is a splendid thing, only it has the misfortune not to keep very well and to be easily misled."

--Immanuel Kant

* * *

(Fred and George Weasley, 1996)

Sixth year

Dear Harry,

Draco Malfoy sent us a letter, Harry. Why is this? It was a little, polite letter, telling us that massive explosions occur when you combine dried belladonna and powdered basilisk tooth in willow tears. Can you think of any reason for Draco Malfoy to have written us, Harry? Because we surely can't.

Well, we say that. We say that, but, Harry, we have thought of a possibility. A terrible, horrible possibility.

You see, there was an even stranger thing about that letter. It ended with, "Harry sends his love."

Harry sends his love.

Now, why would Draco Malfoy know whether or not you sent your love, Harry? More importantly, why would he care? Why would he call you 'Harry'?

Why, Harry, why?

Please tell us something comforting and neutral, because we are very, very afraid.

All of our concern,

Fred and George Weasley

Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes

* * *

(Harry, 1996)

Sixth year

Dearest Fred and George,

Your concern touches me. Truly. I have no idea why Draco sent that letter. He did mention he'd sent it, but not why. Sorry. Can't clear it up for you.

Oh, what were you worried about?

Harry

* * *

(Fred and George, 1996)

Sixth year

Don't do this to us, Harry.

F & G

* * *

(Harry, 1996)

Sixth year

He's really good at pranking. You would like him. Peeves likes him--and, wow, is that ever useful. Come on. He's not going to hex me at this late date. We've been friends...or something...since Third year. He's all right, really.

Harry

* * *

(Fred and George, 1996)

Sixth year

Dear Snake-charmer,

We think we understand. And congratulations, by the way. We're...surprised. Disappointed that we didn't notice. And impressed! Yes.

Affectionately,

F & G

* * *

(Harry, 1996)

Sixth year

Wait, what do you understand?

Harry

* * *

(Fred and George, 1996)

Sixth year

Dear Harry,

Everything. We understand everything. But don't you worry--we definitely won't be telling Ron.

F & G

* * *

(Ron Weasley, 1996)

Sixth year

I was wandering around after the dinner, toward the beginning of Sixth year. I do that, now. Mostly because I can, being a prefect and all. Not that I'd admit that to Hermione. She thinks I'm doing rounds or something.

So I was wandering, and I heard the portraits arguing in a hallway, somewhere near Moaning Myrtle's toilet. Around there. Thought I'd listen in. Portraits are pretty funny, sometimes. Sir Cadogan. He was mental.

I got close enough to hear what they were saying, and then I couldn't move. Think I might've been in shock. Like that time when I was five years old and Fred dumped a bucket of Freezing Potion over my head.

"I say, though," the portrait said. "It wasn't a proper argument at all! Malfoys in my day were much more violent. All that fretting and arm waving, no hitting at all--what would their grandfathers say?" I wasn't that upset yet. So Malfoy was arguing with someone. So what? Maybe it'd be over something funny to tell Harry and Hermione.

"Of course it wasn't a proper fight! We're clearly due for another torrid love affair." Ooh. Malfoy? Love affair? Eurgh...but, still. Harry would laugh himself sick!

Then this third portrait started talking. "Pardon...a love affair? Between a Potter and a Malfoy? Honestly!" There. That was where I went into shock. I think parts of my brain just shut down. Harry and Malfoy? There weren't any other Potters or Malfoys at school, were there? No. I would have noticed. Love affair? No. Must have misheard.

It went all quiet for a bit (except for, you know, the little screaming voices in my head), and then, "Oh yes. You're...new." More quiet. I was refusing to think. Anything. At all.

The first picture giggled, sounded nervous. "Mmm, quite," it said. "Well, it's something of a Hogwarts tradition, you see. Every so often...oh, every twenty or thirty years, the most famous, er, archenemies of the school, they, well they--"

"Start shagging wildly," the second drawled. Sounded just like Malfoy, too. I choked. I don't think the shock was wearing off--I think it was overloaded.

"And that's certainly the way this was going," the first said cheerfully. "It's perfectly logical for Mr. Potter, of course. Why, his own parents were the, ah--"

"Shagging Archenemies--"

"Yes, that." Who knew that portraits could sound prim? That one just had a complete Hermione moment. "Lily and James Potter certainly didn't get along, at first, did they?"

"Violently despised each other."

"And just look at these two! All that looking at each other, touching when it wasn't necessary, squabbling over one another's safety..." The portrait sniffed. "It's so romantic!" it bawled, sounding horribly like Mum.

I was just breathing. Seemed like I had to think about it, all of a sudden. Thought I might be dreaming. Because, I mean, I couldn't really be hearing this, could I? Course, if I was dreaming, meant I'd come up with it myself. Maybe that would be even worse. Dunno.

Then the third painting said, "I see. Perhaps I can believe it, after all. The Malfoy boy did seem unusually interested in what was in the Potter boy's trousers, now I think on it."

I scarpered. Didn't have any better ideas about what to do with myself, see.

* * *

(Hermione, 1996)

Sixth year

"HERMIONE!"

I looked up in some alarm to see Ron barreling into the Common Room. He looked as though his best friend had died. In fact...

"Is Harry alright?" I asked. Ron froze, and started laughing hysterically. Honestly, boys are so bizarre.

"Oh, I hope not too alright," he gasped. What?

"Ron? Ron, what on earth...." I edged over to him in alarm. "Talk to me right now, Ronald Weasley!"

"Harry...Malfoy...and...omigod...."

Ah. I'd been waiting for this. I didn't know how Ron had found out, but, well, there wasn't really a good way, was there? "Oh," I said. "That."

His laughter sputtered to a stop. I was glad--it had been a bit worrying. "That?" he practically screamed. "You knew?"

I shrugged, and made a spontaneous decision to downplay as much as possible. Maybe it would prevent the crazed fight I saw coming. Maybe. Haha. "So they're talking. It's not that serious, is it?"

Ron shook his head violently. I sighed internally. "It is that serious. No--it's more serious, and I can't believe you..." he trailed off, and stared at me for a moment, apparently confused. "Wait. What do you know, exactly?"

"Oh, just that Malfoy's spying for Harry."

"What!?"

What? What does he mean, what?

"Wait, what do you know?"

"I'll tell you in a minute--tell me how you knew about the spying."

"Oh, a lot of different things. I wondered about them after the Quidditch World Cup, and then I overheard them talking in the hall. The whole fight on the Quidditch pitch last year was staged, did you know?"

"WHAT!?"

"You're repeating yourself, Ronald. Staged, I said. Harry wanted more time for the DA, but he didn't want to quit outright--Umbridge would have known something was going on, I suppose."

"But...he didn't tell us...it was so convincing..."

"Well, it would have to be. I imagine they've had a lot of practice, anyway."

Ron sank onto the couch and dropped his head into his hands. "But on the train this year..." came his muffled voice.

"Exactly, Ron. On the train." He looked up at me, confused. Why am I always surrounded by the perpetually confused? "Ginny told me Malfoy was going on about Harry being all alone, and it all starting with his parents--and then the Order refused to let Harry join because he was too high-profile. Harry asked Malfoy how his father was, and Malfoy said that the Minister didn't know--meaning he'd escaped. Remember that Harry wasn't surprised when we heard? Malfoy had already told him--first thing, the minute they saw each other."

Ron was shaking his head, looking upset and bewildered. The boy's a bit fragile, actually. "But why didn't he tell us?"

"Well, then we'd have known about Malfoy, wouldn't we?"

"Yes! Exactly! Why didn't he tell us about Malfoy?"

Ah. I admit I had wondered about that myself, but ... "Ron, if you're fooling your best friends, you can be pretty sure you're fooling your enemies--and I don't want to think about what would happen to Malfoy if his father found out about this. I think ... I think we were his gauge."

Ron still looked hurt, but he nodded slowly. After a long moment, he said, "Then we should tell him we know."

I blinked. "Wait...why?" I love Harry, but he's not the easiest person to get along with recently, and it's not as if we'd tell anyone...

"You said it yourself, Hermione. If we're his gauge, then he needs to know he's not fooling us, because it might mean, it might mean..."

"That he's not fooling Lucius," I breathed, a hideous vision of Lucius killing Draco right in front of Harry flashing before my mind's eye. I didn't know how long this thing with Malfoy had been going on, but Harry wasn't the closest to sane anyway, and losing Malfoy would probably push him over the edge just as surely as losing me or Ron. We couldn't let it happen. No, we really couldn't. I didn't feel up to the task of dealing with an even more crazed Harry Potter.

Unnatural and just plain wrong it might be, but we were going to have to protect Malfoy.

I nodded decisively. "You're right, Ron. Harry needs to know."

"What do I need to know?" Harry was standing in the doorway. Fortunately, I'm far too young for a heart-attack.

* * *

(Ginny, 1996)

Sixth year

I was sitting on the train with Dean and Luna and Harry. It was an odd group, I suppose. I didn't really know what to say with all of us together--I could have had a chat with Harry and Luna, if Dean hadn't been there, and with Dean, if Harry hadn't been there, and with Luna, if Dean hadn't been there...anyway, it was an awkward mess. I was actually grateful to Draco Malfoy for barging in the door, even when he looked around and sneered at everyone.

"Poor boy, Potter. Have your dearest friends left you? Everyone's abandoning you, I see--started with your parents and just keeps on...these will be gone too, you know," he said, waving vaguely at the rest of us, "once they realize how little you're actually doing to save them."

Draco Malfoy has been following Harry around for more than five years. He probably spends his spare time thinking up insults to throw at Harry. I may not know much, but I know obsessive behaviour when I see it. It's almost funny. Not that Harry's much better.

"Really? All alone, am I? Where are your little friends, Malfoy? Had a good time with your Dad over the summer?"

"I am well aware of my father's condition, Potter. Which is more than can be said for your precious Minister."

He sneered and disappeared out the door.

Harry sat back looking shocked, completely consumed by the memory of Draco Malfoy. At least it's mutual obsessive behaviour--otherwise it would just be sad. Believe me when I say I know.

Dean and Luna looked at each other in alarm over Harry's...absorption. Dean and Luna, I begin to note, often look to each other when something goes wrong.

And now I have to make conversation again.

Nothing ever goes well for me. Never.

* * *

(Hermione, 1996)

Sixth year

I cleared my throat carefully, and tried very, very hard not to panic. Harry was looking at me expectantly. It didn't help.

"We, um...we know about Malfoy," Ron said at last. Brave soul.

Harry turned white.

* * *

(Harry, 1996)

Fifth year

It was one week after the Department of Mysteries, and Draco was walking by the far edge of the lake with me. He'd been doing it every day since Sirius died. He didn't say anything, and he didn't try to comfort me. He was just there.

"You're being too nice to me," I said. It was almost the first thing I'd said to him in a week.

"Honestly, Potter. You're insulting my Malfoyness."

He's so stupid, sometimes. "Draco, I'm serious. I don't want you caught and killed too, alright? Is that okay with you?"

He sighed and elbowed me. We walked a few steps, and he said, "Fine. I'll do something flashy. Will that make you happy?"

"And I think you should quit spying. It's too dangerous."

"Potter, I haven't done any real spying--thus far my job has consisted of showing you my father's letters and lying down while various redheads hurt me. It's hardly life-threatening."

"And telling Snape where I am all the time."

"I did that before."

"Well, yes. I still don't like it. It's going to get more dangerous as you go along. You don't have to do this." I couldn't take his death. I couldn't.

"You need me doing this, oh Boy-to-Save-the-World. Your life is more important than mine."

"I am not more important than you!" I said, horrified.

Malfoy just tilted his head to one side and smiled at me. "Well," he said, "maybe the world is."

I knew it would sound stupid to say, not to me. So I didn't.

I didn't speak to him again before we left school, except for that whole scene in front of Snape about getting his father thrown in Azkaban.

He walked with me every day.

* * *

(Neville, 1996)

Sixth year

I was coming down the stairs from our room when I heard Harry's voice, sharp and angry and cold. It reminded me of that time I heard him talking to Malfoy--when I had never heard him sound that way. Well, I had never heard him sound this way, either. He sounded like he had no soul.

"What exactly do you know about Malfoy?"

I'd wondered how long it was going to take Ron and Hermione to notice. They're much cleverer than I am, and I had noticed. Maybe they just didn't want to see it, and I was in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place at the wrong time. Something like that.

Ron and Hermione were going on about spies and portraits and love affairs. I don't know--they are cleverer than I am, but...I don't think they quite understand. Harry and Malfoy, they aren't just friends or, I guess, lovers, or whatever Ron and Hermione think they are. They're partners. They're a team. I think everything else comes second to that. I bet they don't even think about anything else between them. I bet it just happens.

But what do I know? I don't know anything.

I edged down until I could see Harry's face. It matched his voice, and wasn't changing expression at all. I snuck back up the stairs so he couldn't see me. It was very scary. Like Harry wasn't who I'd thought he was at all. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he isn't.

Ron and Hermione finally stopped talking--they sounded as panicked as I felt--and there was a terrible silence. Footsteps went toward the portrait hole, and Harry's scary voice said, "You won't tell anyone." It wasn't a question.

The portrait opened, and Harry's voice came again, only this time it sounded tired and strained and sorry, and only a little cold. "Thank you for telling me." The portrait closed.

We all sat there in shock for a while, and then Ron asked the question. "Who was that?"

* * *

(Harry, 1996)

Sixth year

I was carrying the Marauder's Map. I always carried it, just like I always carried the invisibility cloak. You never know when you might need them. You never know when someone might take them from wherever you left them.

I pulled out the map as soon as I closed the portrait behind me.

Draco Malfoy was alone for a change, bless him.

* * *

(Draco, 1996)

Sixth year

"You're sure the common room was empty?"

Harry slumped to the ground, looking defeated. "No," he said miserably to his knees.

It's not right. I spend months cheering the little bugger up, only to see all my work undone in less than two weeks. Every single time. I am annoyed.

I shrugged at him, in order to indicate that it didn't matter so much, because they were bound to find out eventually anyway.

"IT IS IMPORTANT!" Harry shrieked. So much for gentle reassurance.

I knelt down to be eye-level with him, and said, "It is important, I agree, but you haven't slept properly in weeks, and not at all for the last two nights. Slip-ups like this are inevitable. Blame Snape and his useless Dreamless Sleep potions." We've been stealing Dreamless Sleep potions. Have I mentioned this? It's part of our Campaign to be More Popular among the Professors. "You knew they were going to find out eventually."

Harry took a breath and nodded, still looking miserable. "I knew." He met my eyes, looking worried, but also amused. I took heart. "I think I scared Ron and Hermione," he muttered.

I laughed despite everything. "Did you come over Harry the Bastard at them?" I asked, and laughed again when he nodded sheepishly. "Well," I allowed, "he is the more impressive because you let him out so rarely. I'm offended, though. I thought I was the only one who got to see him."

"You were," Harry said, still embarrassed. "I imagine it was quite a shock for them. And about being more impressive because he's not around much? I could say the same for Draco the Decent Human Being."

My lips twitched. "Your compliments are extravagant, Potter. Anyway, decent human beings end up dead."

"Draco, everyone ends up dead."

"I feel that you're missing my point."

"Possibly."

I stood and pulled him up after me. "Come on, Potter. Let's go chat with your timid Gryffindors."

* * *

(Hermione, 1996)

Sixth year

Ron and I hadn't moved since Harry left, and we jumped about a foot when he swung the door open again. He stepped through, and then stepped to one side, like he always does. I figured out why he'd started doing it when Malfoy pulled off the invisibility cloak right next to him. Ron choked. Maybe he'd been alright with the theory, but the obvious proof that Harry'd been letting Malfoy into our common room for--how long had he been walking in that way?--months? years?--was a bit much.

We all made some sort of noise. I heard someone gasp on the stairs, and Harry and Malfoy did as well, because they both snapped toward the sound like hunting dogs, then turned away again, casually. In synch. It was frightening.

We all stood staring at each other for some time before anyone said anything. Ron and I still looked shocked; Harry looked guilty and angry and miserable; Malfoy looked irritated. After a while, Malfoy sneered at us, and, strangely enough, that seemed to break the ice. "So now you know Draco Malfoy's dirty little secret," he said.

Harry lost his traumatised look, smiled a little, and looked at Malfoy. "Dirty little secret?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"So my dear father would say," Malfoy explained. "Only he would be much more inventive in his use of adjectives."

Harry laughed. Ron and I flinched. It was so...out of character?

Just to add insult to injury, Malfoy started sniggering at us. "Oh, dear. Did Harry the Bastard terrify his little friends?" Ron scowled and glared in fury, and I looked away for a moment, guilty. When I turned back, Malfoy's mouth was open in shock.

"He really did, didn't he?" he said, sounding stunned. "I thought...Potter!" Harry jumped. "These are your friends, aren't they? You can't have been nice to them all the time, not even you. It's not possible."

Harry turned red, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. "Well, I haven't...really lost it with them. Um, only once, really. Summer before fifth year. But even that wasn't, well, it wasn't like this."

"Oh?" Malfoy said. "And what was this?"

"Um. Just after the prophecy talk last year?"

"What prophecy talk?" I asked. They both ignored me.

"The prophecy talk?" Malfoy blinked at Harry, then looked over at us sympathetically. "Oh, I see. Yes. That was quite scary." I looked at Ron, to see that he was staring at Malfoy as though he'd grown a second head. I understood his feelings completely.

Malfoy looked back at Harry. "Why?" he asked.

Harry turned away and blushed. He waved his hand in a complicated little gesture by his side, and Malfoy nodded. Ron choked, and there was another small noise from the stairs. Malfoy sighed.

"Honestly, this is ridiculous. Gasper on the Stairs, come down before I knock you down. Weasley, I don't have words for what a twat you are. Granger, aren't you meant to be the clever mudblood, here? Couldn't you have figured this out years ago?"

He said 'clever mudblood' the way a normal person would say 'clever monkey.' I wanted to break his face--a strangely comforting sensation. Normal. "I did figure it out years ago, inbred boy. Where were you?"

"Inbred? That's rich, coming from the daughter of two muggles with tooth fetishes."

Neville crept silently down the stairs and sank onto the couch on Ron's far side.

"Name calling, Malfoy?" I asked coldly.

"Old fashioned, yet effective," he answered, smirking.

I started to respond when Harry muttered, "Thank heaven you're trying to be civil." I gaped at him. "Hello, Neville," he continued, unperturbed.

"Harry," Neville squeaked.

Harry sighed and said, "All you really need to know is that Malfoy is on our side--"

"Potter's side, specifically," Malfoy murmured. Harry glared at him.

"Our side," he repeated. "And he's really quite good at keeping his cover. So carry on as you were."

"But, Harry, you can't just leave it at that!" I cried. Quite reasonably, I feel. "When exactly did this start, and how do you know we can trust him--why did he switch sides in the first place? And--"

"None of that is really your business, is it?" Harry snapped at me. I shut up. This was exactly why I hadn't meant to mention it at all.

The last person I expected to come to my rescue was Draco Malfoy. "Honestly, Potter," he drawled, now sprawled on one of the squishy chairs, "she was expressing her concern for your safety, because, for some reason, she's fond of you. You know, the fact that you still have friends is a source of never-ending amazement for me."

"We're a hardy bunch," Ron said, drawn in despite himself.

"You must be," Malfoy agreed with a smirk.

"How can you be on our side?" I asked Malfoy while Ron was trying to puzzle out whether or not he'd been insulted. "You hate muggles. You think they're inferior."

"I don't hate muggles!" Malfoy said indignantly. "'Hatred' assumes a certain level of respect, after all. I prefer the word 'despise,' myself. And, yes, of course they're inferior--and so are Crabbe and Goyle. Note that they are still living."

"How loyal of you. Why do you think muggles are inferior?"

"Because they can't use magic, Granger," he said in the patient tones of one speaking to a child or an idiot. Or possibly an idiot child.

"But--"

"Give it up, Hermione," Harry said with weary amusement. "I've been working on it. No progress as yet."

"He says after over three years of 'working on it.' Bless that utterly embarrassing Gryffindor bull-headedness," Malfoy remarked. He'd just told us how long he and Harry had been...friends...or whatever. Had he done it deliberately? If so, why?

"Oh, indeed," Harry said, throwing a half-smile at him before turning back to us. "Anything else?" he asked. "Only Malfoy and I need to be off plotting now."

* * *

(Draco and Harry, 1996)

Sixth year

"Well, that went well."

"No, it didn't, Draco."

"What? Am I alive? Do I possess the normal number of limbs? I'd say it went well. What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. Something better. You can't Obliviate portraits, can you?"

"Tragically, no."

"We could burn them."

"No, Potter, we really couldn't."

"Draco?"

"Harry?"

"We have to come up with a new plan now."

"Yes. Yes, we do."

* * *

(Draco Malfoy, 1996)

Sixth year

Dear Father,

It has come to my attention that Harry Potter actively seeks my company. At first I thought he pitied me for losing you, and I was disgusted with the display of stereotypically Gryffindor behaviour. To my surprise, he has continued seeking me out after learning of your escape--this despite my best efforts to drive him off. It occurs to me that his persistent desire to win me over might work in our favour. Please let me know if you believe my gaining his trust would be of use to Our Lord.

Your obedient son,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

(Harry and Draco, 1996)

Sixth year

"Your father?"

"Says, 'Dear Draco, stunning plan, my little schemer all grown up, etc.'"

"Ew."

"At least."

"So you're going to talk to Snape?"

"Consider it done. Ye gods, we're efficient."

"I know. It's a crying shame no one's grading this."

* * *

(Hermione, 1996)

Sixth year

Dear Viktor,

I'm very sorry to dwell on this again, but I can't stop worrying about Harry. Professor Snape has paired Harry and Draco Malfoy in Potions for the past month of classes. As I mentioned in my last, Harry and Malfoy seem to be getting along well, but...I admit, I can't bring myself to trust Malfoy. Too many years of bad blood, I suppose.

My concern is being borne out. Harry has been horribly meek lately, and, as you know, it isn't at all like him. I heard Blaise Zabini saying Harry just needed to be taken down a peg. I heard Seamus Finnigan supposing he had been hexed. I would almost prefer either of these ideas to my own suspicions.

The third Potions class they were together, we were making a mild Wisdom potion--did you make those? They only sharpen your concentration, of course; they can't really make you wise--and Harry added rue instead of hollyhock. Honestly, I don't understand how he can make these mistakes, nor why Professor Snape doesn't correct him--in any case, he had made a Dreamless Sleep potion instead. It was obvious what he'd done, of course: the potion turned green instead of red.

Malfoy started hissing at him before Snape could. Loudly. The whole class could hear. He said that Harry should stick to doing as Malfoy told him, and that it was just as well Gryffindors were meant to be muggle-lovers and not clever, or Harry would have been kicked out of his House. Harry didn't react in any way. No--he shrugged. Am I right to be concerned?

It's only getting worse. Zacharias Smith sneers at Harry constantly now, and Seamus tries to talk him into staying away from Malfoy. Harry will only say that Malfoy isn't as "touchy" in private. To quote Seamus, "He's not touchy, he's a git!"

Harry's not just timid around Malfoy, either. He's timid around everyone. I know the Quidditch team is terrified about their first match.

Yesterday Harry was talking to me and Ron at the dinner table. Almost, he was being normal. For Harry, that is. Then Malfoy came in, and Harry got quieter immediately. I remember being relieved that he was, at least, still talking. Then Malfoy came to our table and told Harry they were leaving. Harry packed his bag and stood to follow Malfoy without a word.

I had to do something. I asked for a word with Malfoy. Malfoy, predictably, wanted to know why he would speak to a "filthy little mudblood" like me. Harry just stared at me, as if he were wondering the same thing. He did nothing. Neither did Ron, actually. Harry followed Malfoy out like a trained lapdog.

Viktor, I don't know what to do.

I apologise--another letter about Harry, and I swore I wouldn't do it again. Certainly I wouldn't want you...worried...again. Just ever after Lupin ordered us so, at the end of third year, I've been watching out for him. It seems there is once again something to watch out for.

I promise to stop now, and write about cheerful things. Did your mother ever decide whether or not to go abroad? You had said she might...

* * *

(Hermione, 1996)

Sixth year

I was sitting in History of Magic, panicking over the Harry Situation. I always seem to be panicking over the Harry Situation, and, strictly entre nous, it's getting a little tiresome. Particularly when it's clear that the Harry Situation doesn't bother Harry himself at all.

So I was taking notes, and trying very hard not to worry about Harry and Malfoy and even Ron and Neville, and--oh, why not?--Viktor too, and a note landed on my desk. A little folded note; nothing special. I checked, but no one was looking at me. No one seemed to be waiting for me to open it. So I opened it.

"He says to meet him in Fluffy's home at 3:30. He says subtlety is a fine art, and you are no artist. I snicker wildly at the both of you."

I carefully re-folded the note, and placed it back on my desk, precisely where I'd found it. I looked up at Harry, who was sitting on the other side of the classroom, looking cowed and refusing to meet my eyes. I looked at the note. The note that was written in the chipper style of Harry in a spectacularly good mood. I looked back at Harry.

The coin dropped. They had lied to me. I'd been had.

Another note landed on the desk. It read, "Fooled you? Brilliant! We win, we win!"

I snarled at the note, then looked up to find the entire class staring at me (except, of course, Professor Binns). Harry was looking too, with wide, innocent eyes. I bared my teeth at him. He checked around to make sure no one was watching him, then winked at me, and turned back to his notebook.

I spent the rest of the class making a list of every non-fatal hex I knew, and planning out what exactly I would have to say to Draco Malfoy in the afternoon.

* * *

(Ron, 1996)

Sixth year

Neville and I were playing chess. We weren't doing anything wrong, I swear! And Hermione storms in looking like she's ready to kill something, and we, you know, focused a little more closely on the game, just in case she might forget about us, and, ah, go away.

Yeah. No luck.

"Ron!" Oh, God. "Ron, it's a scam!"

I looked up. Neville, wise soul, kept staring at the board. I mean, he might have been really, seriously plotting strategy, right? Right.

"Uh...what's a scam, Hermione?"

"Harry and Malfoy! This whole thing! Scam!"

Even Neville had looked up. I still think it was a mistake on his part. Chess is loads safer than Hermione in a strop.

"Well...yeah, it's a scam. Didn't you know that?"

Then Neville spoke. Strike everything I said--the boy has no common sense at all.

"Don't go around saying that so loud, Hermione. You don't want anyone else to find out." He spoke...and criticized. Absolute idiocy, no way around it.

Hermione stood there staring at us. For a really long, really uncomfortable time. We're lucky she didn't slap us both around the face, honestly. After she'd let us get nice and uncomfortable, she shouts--and Hermione never shouts--"And you didn't see fit to tell me? And you just thought you'd let me worry myself sick? Did you remember that I existed, and didn't it occur to you that I'd be worried about Harry, and I hate all four of you!"

She stormed up the stairs and I heard her door slamming.

Actually, what we'd pretty much figured was that she was clever enough to work it out on her own, since we had. It didn't seem like quite the right time to point that out to her, though. Besides, she was all locked up in her room, and I wasn't going to be the one to go fish her out.

Neville and I went back to the game. Anything we might've said wasn't worth the risk that Hermione might've heard about it later, if you know what I mean.