True Faith

True Faith 02

~*~*~*~*~*~
"Well, I live with snakes and lizards,
And other things that go bump in the night
Because to me, everyday is Halloween
And I've given up hiding, and started to fight"

"Everyday is Halloween", Ministry
~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything Harry had heard in the past twenty minutes had made brain ache. He distinctly felt the desire to be able to run his squishy gray mass under running water, wring it out and stuff it back in his ear. Perhaps that way, he could get rid of his extraneous thoughts and make room for the new thoughts and facts he'd just been forced to absorb into an already over-crowded space.

He remained still and quiet once he'd regained his seat. At least he knew that he hadn't been the only one thrown for a loop. The first part didn't come as too much of a shock to Harry. Now that he actually thought about it, he'd never seen Malfoy in the presence of a female without a disgusted grimace on his face. It was common knowledge that he'd been giving Pansy Parkinson the brush-off from the very beginning. Theories had been many and widely varied as to why; he found it strange that none of them had even been close to the mark.

Speaking of marks- that was one bit of information Harry's fried brain simply refused to absorb. Everything he'd ever seen and heard had suggested exactly the opposite. Suggested- never had he; or anyone else for that matter- seen any ironclad, cast in concrete facts. Malfoy had always acted like his father was his idol, and Voldemort was Jesus resurrected. Well, he had never actually said that, but it had always been IMPLIED…

Suddenly, Harry found himself brutally slapped with the obviousness of it all. He goggled at the sheer brilliance, the amazing skill of the act that Malfoy had managed to maintain all these years.

Once, a few years ago, Harry had seen Lucius backhand Malfoy across the face in a school corridor just after mid-term marks had been posted. The only snatches of conversation that he'd picked up from around the corner had been "disgrace to the family name", "beat you again!" and "filthy mudblood." Malfoy had always been slender, and just a hair smaller then most boys his age. And yet, when his father had struck him, he neither stumbled, nor made a single sound, although it had seemed to Harry that Lucius must have struck him incredibly hard to make Malfoy's head fly back so far.

He clenched his eyes shut as realization rolled over him. Harry knew from his own experience that if you cried out, or fought back, that it often made the person hitting you more likely to do so again. He also knew that if you could anticipate the hit, and move back as you took it, it would absorb some of the impact. He never thought he'd learn anything of use from Dudley- the huge boy had detailed this exact technique as he'd babbled on about the joys of boxing. Malfoy had purposely flung his head back to minimize the damage of the blow. Harry understood with sudden quiet certainty that Malfoy must have received such blows on many occasions, and that he must have secretly despised his father with same the fervor that as Harry did the Dursleys.

All this time, Malfoy had been acting the dutiful son, waiting patiently, more patiently then Harry could have ever possibly managed, for the right time to free himself. He'd built a wall of hate around himself so strong that nothing could touch him, or his conviction. Harry felt the beginnings of respect starting to materialize.

Only one real question remained to Harry- after enduring so much, with the freedom of so many years of work and patience finally realized, why had Malfoy attempted to kill himself? Lifting his gaze from the floor for the first time in what must have been at least ten minutes, he found the object of his thoughts watching him intently.

"I bet you think you've got me all figured out, don't you?" Malfoy queried, his delicate features strangely devoid of expression.

Harry's eyebrow drew together in thought briefly before he replied. "Not really, no." He stood up rather awkwardly, and returned the chair to its standardized place. His brow still wrinkled in puzzlement, he nodded to Malfoy. "I hope you feel better." Formalities over with, he turned and, in a way that suggested he really wasn't paying attention to where he was going, made his way out of the hospital wing.

~*~*~*~

Draco watched Potter wander aimlessly out of the hospital wing, his own brain now twisted in knots of confusion. He had completely expected a full-fledged inquisition à la Malleus Maleficarum (1), to take place the instant the teachers had left. Instead he'd gotten dead silence, and Potter staring rather blankly at the floor.

Many expressions had passed over the other boy's face as he'd watched. The first had been complete confusion; he actually saw the threads of some theory slowly knit themselves together behind Potter's jade-like eyes. He could almost SEE the bits of evidence being compiled as Potter took a mental step back to look at the tiny chunks form into a more cohesive whole.

As the puzzle pieces began to fit together, the object of the picture had started to reveal itself. Certainly, huge gaps were still present, but enough pieces were there to at least discern what the picture truly was. Upon realization of that picture, Potter's face had flooded with horror. His normally attractive features had twisted in ways Draco hadn't thought possible.

After yet more time, Potter had finally looked up to meet his eyes again, his face showing the very beginnings of grudging respect coupled with understanding built from personal experience. The blatant emotions had paraded across his liquid green eyes with all the fanfare of a marching band.

The reply to his question had not been at all what he'd expected. But then, he'd always assumed the other boy was at least reasonably intelligent. If he were, he'd know that what he'd learned today wasn't even the tip of the proverbial iceberg, but a speck no larger then a snowflake.

That boy really did have the most expressive eyes. That was one of the things that hadn't changed from the first year they'd met.

Seeking a more comfortable position, Draco snuggled into his medicinal-smelling infirmary pillows, one arm draped across his chest, his other arm turned at an unnatural angle to avoid the injured side resting on the mattress. After a moment, he flipped onto his side so that the injured sides of both forearms could be turned away from the slightly rough sheets. Although they were bandaged fully from wrist to elbow, the skin was so sensitive and sore that any pressure at all was too much. Leave it to him; he scowled to himself, to not even be able to kill himself properly. Frustrated, he blew a stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes, only to have it settle right where it started.

So many things about Potter had changed, he mused. The awkwardness that Potter had carried himself with at first had been replaced slowly over the years by a liquid, feline grace. He had the physique of someone accustomed to a great deal of hard work and never quite enough to eat- lean and wiry, yet amazing strong. Sometime over the summer, his face had lost the slightly boyish softness that it had retained even at the end of last year. It had been replaced by a strong and solid jaw line, and noticeable but delicate cheekbones. Today that jaw line was prickled with the start of a neglected five o'clock shadow. His eyebrows had thickened almost imperceptibly, and his mouth had taken on a hardness born from the hardship and sorrow life had dealt him. The very beginnings of laugh lines already surrounded his intensely and vividly green eyes, a needed balance to the pain expressed in his mouth. All of these things came together to create the unmistakable stamp of character that made Harry Potter… Harry Potter.

The soot-black mop of unkempt hair, however, hadn't changed in the slightest. It still looked as though a young house elf had gotten to it with a very dull Potions lab knife. All in all, the cumulative effect was intensely attractive in ways that Draco had only briefly speculated upon in years past, and on which he currently found his thoughts dwelling at length. The beginnings of a lovely little fantasy began to play on the edges of Draco's mind, bringing the faintest of smiles to his lips.

He could see those jade eyes flutter closed, lashes as dark as a raven's wing against the skin of his delicately flushed cheekbones. The pale pink of his lips darkened from biting, parted in breathless sound of pleasure. The long yet sturdy fingers twisted in the bedclothes. That long neck arched, sinews and muscle leaping visibly through thin, fine skin.

What a shame it was, Draco mused wryly on the very edges of sleep that Potter was probably as straight as an arrow, and more pure then freshly fallen snow.

~*~*~*~*~

Draco was forced to suffer three days of intense boredom before finally being released on Friday after classes were let out. Absolutely no one had come to visit him during his convalescence. He'd been instructed to have dinner, and then to go speak with the Headmaster.

He positively dreaded going into the Great Hall. And it was just as bad as he'd expected, maybe even a little worse. He walked in, and silence descended. Blatant stares he had expected; that they should peruse him as if he were some kind of oddity they were supposed to cut up for Potions class had been a given.

Instead, no one looked his way. Everyone at all four tables simply examined the food on their plates as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. He could hear the telltale fidgeting of cutlery being jostled, the scuffing of boot-shod feet underneath the tables. Only Potter looked up as he came in. He looked sad, and merely nodded his understanding.

The noise of the Hall returned quite suddenly, as though the silence had been nothing but an illusion, similar to the clear, velvety indigo-colored night sky that currently doubled as the ceiling.

Draco returned the nod with a shrug before proceeding to the Slytherin table. His usual seat had been taken by some fifth year he didn't recognize. With a deep sigh, he sat at the very end close to the doors of the Hall. At the very least he could make a hasty exit if he needed to. He turned inward as he forced himself to eat. He moved his food mechanically from his plate to his mouth, never tasting a single bite. He found that his appetite had not returned- that or his stomach had shrunk considerably. A single slice of pot roast, a few mouthfuls of salad and he was full.

He strolled calmly out the doors a few minutes later, well aware that the silence had returned.

He meandered through the corridors for a bit, not knowing if the Headmaster was still at dinner or not. Draco found himself in front of the gargoyle leading up to his office in shorter order then he'd wanted. The statue eyed him stonily before informing him that the Headmaster was not in. Leaning up against the wall, he shoved his fists into the pockets of his robes, closed his eyes and waited.

"Ah, Draco, you're already here! Have you been waiting long?" Draco's eyes snapped open. The Headmaster was naught but half a meter from him. His eyes narrowed in suspicion- Dumbledore only smiled widely before turning to speak the password to the gargoyle. "Strawberry Pocky." Obligingly, the statue moved aside.

Draco realized as he stepped into the office, that he couldn't remember if he'd ever been in there before. It looked much as he'd expected it to; packed to the seams with knickknacks, many of them unidentifiable. Only one chair wasn't littered with a mishmash of papers and objects; choice removed from him that was where he sat.

He'd hardly settled into the deeply cushioned chair when the first question was lobbed his way. "What will you do now?" It caught him off guard.

"I haven't thought about it. If you'll recall, my plan was to be in a pine box under the ground at this point." A pained expression crossed the aged face, and then was quickly gone. "I suppose I'll finish school, get a job, and buy a house in the countryside." Draco couldn't help the sarcasm that dripped off his every word. He wasn't trying- it just came out that way.

"So, everything is final?"

The beginning of a headache throbbed in Draco's head. He pressed cold fingers to his temple before snapping, "Even if it wasn't, I couldn't bring myself to care in the slightest. I plan on keeping at least a hundred kilometers between Lucius and myself for the rest of my life. His presence makes me want to projectile vomit." The thought of being anywhere near Lucius really did make his stomach heave, and his face twisted as he forced himself to swallow the bile that had risen into his mouth. "But to answer your question, yes, I have the legal documentation. He can't really… 'remove' me until I'm eighteen, but all the foundations have been laid. Our lawyers have everything taken care of."

The Headmaster leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, causing several miscellaneous objects to clatter to the floor. "Lucius did not 'toss you out on your ear', as you so eloquently put it, without a Sickle to your name, then?"

"Sweet Merlin, no." Draco scoffed. "What most would term a small fortune will be transferred to my Gringott's vault on my eighteenth birthday, provided all the paperwork is signed and returned."

"And the details of the paperwork?" The Headmaster pressed.

"That upon attaining legal majority, I can no longer use the Malfoy name, or make any attempt to contact any members of any branch of the family, anywhere in the world, for any reason." Shrugging, he added wryly, "Once again, not that I care in the slightest."

The Headmaster was nodding slowly as he explained everything. Now that there was silence, he leaned back in his chair, appearing deep in thought. "I'll rephrase my original question- what would you LIKE to do?"

"I really haven't thought about it." He couldn't quite hide the annoyance creeping into his voice. The pounding in his temples was getting worse. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Have you ever thought of teaching?"

"No." Draco suddenly felt as though his brain had taken a tumble out his ear, and it was being trodden upon by drunken, randy centaurs.

"Professor Sumeragi (2) has made it perfectly clear that he'd like to return to his homeland at the end of the year. This will leave us without a Defense teacher yet again."

"You want ME to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Completely against his will, he felt his jaw hanging slack. The lapse in control lasted only a second before he screwed his normal mask back into place. Now it was amusement that colored his tone. "You'll have to forgive me for saying this, Headmaster, but you have an unmatched taste for irony."

There was a twinkle in the old Headmaster's eye as he replied. "Who better to teach Defense then someone who was raised on the Dark Arts?"

Silvery-gray eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "Why haven't you asked Potter if he'll do it? Certainly he'd be better at it." It had begun to feel like he was playing a verbal version of the Muggle game of Tennis.

"Harry has already said he wants to be an Auror."

"Potter? An Auror? He doesn't have the marks for that, and you well know it."

"There is only one subject in which is he lacking." The headmaster steepled his fingers in front of him, a shaggy white eyebrow arched.

Draco had the sudden sickening feeling he knew where this conversation was going. "Potions."

"That is correct. Now I ask again, more formally- would you like to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts here at Hogwarts next term?" It was both an offer and a challenge at the same time.

Eyebrows knit in thought Draco considered his options. Everyone would know, disowned or not, that Lucius was his father. Everyone, almost without fail, would always assume that he was like him. No matter what his marks or his family name, that specter would haunt him for the rest of his days. He suddenly realized that the Headmaster was not just offering him a job- he was offering him a chance to prove through actions as well as speech that he was not like his father, in all the ways that counted. Teachers were not paid especially well, but it was free room and board for ten months out of the year, three meals a day, plus holidays off. All things considered, it was a very generous offer. A golden eyebrow cocked, he sardonically inquired "And the fine print?"

"Very astute of you, Draco. I'd like you to tutor Harry in Potions. Your marks in Potions exceed even those of Hermione Granger. This will ensure that Harry passes his Potions NEWTS with flying colors, and I get to find out if you have what it takes to be a teacher. The end result will be that I get a competent Defense teacher, you get a job without your father's shadow hanging over you, and Harry will become one of the best Aurors in history. A win-win situation, wouldn't you say?"

A win-win situation indeed, Draco parroted back to himself, his mental tone mocking. He was cornered. He was a hundred years young to outwit Albus Dumbledore and he knew it.

"You'll have to get Potter to agree." It was a long shot, but it was the last escape route.

"He already has."

Draco's world spun around him. Even his own father hadn't ever been able to manipulate him that smoothly. Vertigo was nearly threatening to overwhelm him. Was it still manipulation if you knew what was going on and you liked the idea? Wasn't that just positive presentation of facts? Why then, did he still feel like he was being conned?

"How ever did you get him to agree? We aren't exactly best mates, you know." He couldn't hide the disbelief in his voice; he only managed to muffle it a little. Even still, it sounded a little shaky to him.

"It was all Harry's idea to begin with..." Wait a minute. ALL Potter's idea? His train of thought derailed with the force of an atom bomb. Dizziness so powerful that it made the whole room swirl around him, and his sight go momentarily dim assaulted him. Draco was sure all his blood must be pooling in his feet.

"Draco, are you all right? You look as if you've just seen a Dementor." There was a great deal of humor mixed in with the concern in the leathery old voice. Draco took the proffered chocolate anyway.

"Professor. Do you mean to tell me that it was Harry Potter that suggested that I tutor him in Potions? That HE thought I'd make a good Defense teacher?" Didn't that just beat all? All Potter's idea. Damn those drunken, randy centaurs. He just couldn't wrap his brain around it.

"Right on all counts! I should have thought of it all myself, as I completely agree with him." This was all completely beyond the pale. Here he was, at the tender age of seventeen, being offered a teaching position at a school from which he had not yet graduated, which had been suggested to the Headmaster by his Arch Rival.

"Next you'll be telling me I have a date with him tomorrow!"

"Actually, you do." Draco felt his heart skid to a screeching halt. "A STUDY date."

"Oh." The shock subsided, and his heart resumed its normal pace. A few seconds passed before he was able to speak again. "I was wondering… aren't you the least bit worried that I might try to kill myself again?"

"Not really. After all, I just gave you something to live for, didn't I?"

~*~*~*~

Harry couldn't help it. He was nervous. However, this whole scheme was his bloody idea, and he was damn well going to see it through.

The library was not usually a place he liked to hang out. This was, however, supposed to be a study session, so the library was as good a place as any. It served another purpose as well- he wanted people to see Malfoy with him. Harry hadn't gone so far as to try and figure THAT out. There were too many things there he didn't want to look at just yet.

It had been a rather shocking blow, now that he thought about it, to hear that Malfoy had refused the Dark Mark. He was THRILLED, of course; one less person trying to kill him was always a good thing. At the same time though, if his theory was correct, he'd wasted a lot of time hating this boy for all the wrong reasons. He realized now that perhaps he could have helped Malfoy, had he accepted his hand all those years ago. There was so much pain he might have been able to save him from.

Harry had learned over the last six and half years since he'd started at Hogwarts that his own pain would not lessen as he grew older. If anything, his capacity to feel pain had increased. The only thing that dulled it was the joy he received from helping others. It had been something of an epiphany for him when he discovered that even though he couldn't possibly live up to everyone's standards for him that just allowing them that illusion made them feel safer. The fact that his very existence comforted people filled him with a sense of awe, even though he knew that feeling was misplaced. Sometimes, illusions were even more important then truth.

It was a selfish reason for wanting to help people, and he knew it. But it was an illusion he had knowingly created for himself to get through his life one day at a time. Perhaps Malfoy had needed him as a rival to fulfill his own need for an illusion- perhaps the years of bickering and plotting had distracted him enough to temporarily forget the horrors he had to deal with at home.

These were just a few of the things that Harry was curious about. Therefore he had concocted this grandiose plan as an excuse. Not that Malfoy wasn't completely perfect for a Defense teacher, because he was and Harry did genuinely need help with Potions- he'd never been any good at it, no matter how hard he tried.

Staring off into space, he found that his thoughts, while far from complete, had come full circle. A glance at the clock on the library wall told him that Malfoy should be arriving any second. He'd made sure that he had gotten a table as far away as possible, yet still within view of the door. The plan had been to be able to watch Malfoy approach- and what a good plan it was.

At this very moment, Malfoy was making his way through the moderately crowded library. Harry had never stopped to just watch the boy walk before. You could tell so much about a person just by their gait and the way they stood. When he'd first come in, he'd paused in the doorway. His posture spoke volumes to those who cared to look. His hands were tucked inside the pockets of his black trousers, slim hips pressed forward, head tilted down just a little and his eyes narrowed. To some, this might have given the appearance that he was staring down his nose at you; in Harry's eyes, it made it seem that he was peering at you from under his eyelashes. Malfoy positively smoldered, without even trying.

Then, he'd looked up and seen Harry- Malfoy's expression had changed imperceptibly. Gone was the previous bored curiosity, and it was replaced by… anticipation? It was just a slight widening of the silvery-gray eyes, a change in the tilt of that delicate, almost elfin jaw-line.

His hair had grown considerably over the past months. The white-gold tips just barely brushed the open collar of the loose white button-down shirt. It hung loose, Malfoy having long ago given up on the styling potion. It naturally parted in the middle, though it looked like he'd only just run his fingers through it a moment ago to push it away from his face. A single silky platinum lock stubbornly refused to remain tucked behind his ear, hanging over his forehead, falling to just past his chin.

Not one, but two buttons past the collar of his shirt were undone, giving a tantalizing view of the pale creamy flesh of his neck and collarbones. His shoulders had broadened considerably over the past several years, tapering down to a trim, narrow waist and lean hips. The self-inflicted wounds from earlier in the week had since been banished by the tender ministrations of Madame Pomfrey, leaving only the barest hint of a scar on each arm. These were visible only because the cuffs of each shirt were unbuttoned as well, and rolled up to midway up his forearm. By all the gods, how could forearms be sexy? Perhaps it was the thinness of the skin, which made the taut corded muscle layered with veins underneath visible to the naked eye.

His passage from the door to the table seemed to take forever- to Harry it was like slow motion, though perhaps ten seconds had actually passed. Too soon, and not soon enough he was standing at the table where Harry sat trying to lounge, attempting to look casual. Now came the difficult part- now they had to speak.

Harry gestured benevolently at the chair across from him, hesitant to speak though the silence was quickly becoming awkward. He was certain that he'd planned something to say- whatever it had been had left him Malfoy had stepped into the room.

Harry's quandary was solved when Malfoy pulled the strap of his heavy black leather satchel from over his shoulder, dropping it with a loud 'thunk' on the table before taking the seat opposite him. Harry blinked in surprise, the illusion of elegance and gracefulness shattered beyond repair.

He was drawing study materials from his satchel, his voice smooth and rather bland as he immediately began the lesson. "I've put a lot of thought into this since yesterday, and I think I've figured out why you've always had such a hard time in Potions."

"That doesn't take any thought at all." Harry crossed his arms across his chest, pouting. "It's Snape, it's always been Snape."

Sharp silver eyes bored into his skull, making Harry shift uncomfortably in his chair. "Stop talking out of your arse Potter, or I'll just be on my way. I don't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock(3) if you pass your NEWTS, and I have a great deal of things to do which are far more important then trying to force information into your admittedly dense, lead-like brain. The probability of success is about as likely as the extraction of blood from a turnip."

Harry knew his jaw was dangling. He should have known that was coming. This was your idea, he reminded himself. He closed it with an audible snap, and assumed what he hoped was an attentive pose.

Malfoy tilted his white-gold head back, and was now most certainly staring down his nose at him. A matching white-gold eyebrow cocked in wry amusement, and his mouth twisted into an accompanying half-smile. "Good. Now as I was going to say, I think I've figured out what your problem has always been. I've watched you in class, randomly tossing ingredients into your cauldron with hardly any regard to order, or technique at all.

"I think what you're lacking is the theory behind what makes potions what they are- a potion is not just the sum of its ingredients, but something much more. This can not be forced- it must be gently coaxed with extreme patience.

"Unicorn blood, for example. Stop looking at me like that and let me finish! The Unicorn does not have to be dead to donate blood you know- they are intelligent creatures, and have some ability to judge a persons' intentions and emotions. If the Unicorn judges your reason to be a good one, it will willingly allow you to take a small amount of blood from it. Consequently, blood sacrificed willing is far more powerful then it could have ever been had it been removed by force. Unicorn blood is the main ingredient in one of the most potent healing draughts currently known- on the other hand, blood taken against its will would render the draught worthless, or possibly even backfire. Obviously, forcefully taken Unicorn blood is only used in Dark potions and rituals."

Harry found himself feverishly taking notes. He also found himself wondering suddenly how such concepts applied to other animals. And what about plants? You couldn't ask a plant for permission. Before he could open his mouth to ask, Malfoy continued:

"This concept of willingness can only really apply to intelligent, magical creatures. Obviously a newt or a bat while it can feel pain, doesn't have the same ability to feel emotions the same way as a creature such as a Unicorn, or, say, a Centaur. However, ingredients acquired from non-intelligent animals should always be taken in the most painless way possible. Knock the creature out, and then kill it swiftly with one blow. Stop grimacing, Potter. Freshness equals potency.

"A similar concept also applies to plants. Its environment, regardless of whether that ingredient is living, magical, intelligent, or inanimate, always affects the ingredient. A plant grown in good fertilizer will always be superior to one grown in poor fertilizer. A tree that has grown in a graveyard will have vastly different attributes from one raised in someone's garden. This sort of thing is very important in harvesting plant-based ingredient for Potions. Another thing that is extremely important is the time of year, and phase of the moon, or the quality of sunlight- a plant harvested under the light of full moon on the Summer Solstice is going to have a different quality then the same plant harvested in Moon Dark on Samhain."

Malfoy finally paused to catch his breath. Harry meanwhile, was shaking his head slowly in quiet awe. He'd filled nearly a meters' worth of parchment taking notes. Suddenly a great deal about the subject he'd never considered before was floating around in his head. "Wow. I never realized so many variables went into making Potions. I can see how Care of Magical Creatures fits in with it, as well as Herbology. I can imagine Arithmancy must be incredibly helpful as well. I wish I'd taken it now instead of Divination."

The eyes of his tutor widened in surprise, before shining briefly with approval. "Good, so that all made sense, then."

"Perfectly!" Harry was suddenly more animated as he voiced his newfound perspective. "Its no wonder most of my potions turned out botched- I'd never even considered these things let alone realized they were important. I always though that Snape gave us queer instructions to reinforce his position as The Most Annoying Git in Existence." This actually squeezed a chuckle out of Malfoy.

Harry regarded the other boy serious, "Do you realize that your speech just now taught me more about potions then I'd learned after taking the class for six and half years from Snape?"

Malfoy lips parted as if to speak, but another voice interrupted, and overrode him.

"Hey, Harry! Are we still on for tonight?" Harry winced as the sixth year Hufflepuff girl draped herself around his shoulders.

"Of course, Gwen. Remember, I promised you that since I went with Seamus last time, I'd go with you this time?" Harry stood and extracted himself from the grasp of the lovely girl. Gwen was gorgeous- her auburn hair was long and thick, and her eyes were a hazel that lent slightly more towards green then brown. She had the body of a Play Wizard centerfold, but alas, nothing is perfect. Her exquisite looks did nothing to make up for her lack of intelligence.

"Wonderful! I'll meet you at the same time as usual then." Before Harry could protest, Gwen threw her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips exuberantly to his. The pressure, while fierce was thankfully brief before the girl released him and bounded out of the library.

"Didn't know you had a girlfriend, Potter." At the deadpan tone of Malfoy's voice, Harry felt himself cringe. Harry couldn't quite bring himself to meet Malfoy's eyes. Honestly, Harry had forgotten about his promise to Gwen. In fact, he'd been inclined to ask Malfoy if he'd like to go.

"Gwen isn't my girlfriend." Harry found the wood grain of the table to be very fascinating, suddenly.

"Whatever she is, I hope if you have any respect for me at all that you will never subject me to such a revolting sight ever again."

"Don't worry. It won't happen again. I don't spend much time with her anyway… She's rather possessive. Especially since I'm not hers."

There was an awkward silence. Harry used that time to screw up his courage. "Actually…" He began, "I was going to ask you if you'd like to go."

Surprise registered on Malfoy's face before he could squelch it. "Go where, pray tell?"

"It's kind of a secret, so you have to promise not to tell anyone." Harry was relieved to see Malfoy nod. "There's a party every Saturday night just outside Hogsmeade inside the Shrieking Shack. A lot of the sixth and seventh years from all the houses except Slytherin go."

"I'll pass, thanks." The words were so abrupt Harry forgot to feel hurt at the rejection.

"Really, they're a lot of fun. You should give it a try sometime."

Eyebrows raised, Malfoy inquired, "How come not a lot of the Slytherins go? They enjoy a good party as much as anyone."

"Well," Harry paused trying to think of a way to say this that wouldn't be insulting. "I think it's because most of them can't be trusted. We didn't want to risk the party being shut down. I mean, think if the wrong people found out, what could happen."

"I see."

The awkward silence returned.

"How do so many people manage to sneak into Hogsmeade and back every week without getting caught?"

Harried grinned. "You'd be amazed at how many secret passages in this castle lead into Hogsmeade. The safest one leads into the Honeydukes cellar. The direct route is more dangerous- there's a passage under the Whomping Willow that leads into the Shrieking Shack itself. You have to poke a knot on the Willow's trunk, and it will be temporarily paralyzed."

Malfoy nodded, not really surprised. He sighed- it was obvious they weren't going to get anything else done today.