The Shadows of His Past

Disclaimer:

Harry Potter- don't own it; don't pretend to. So don't sue me!

Rain, Rain Go Away

By Sabrina Clarke & Edited by Fiona Chan

Professor Snape raised his eyebrow at Dumbledore. "I see. The Witch Weekly, Albus?"

Dumbledore's face colored slightly under his cloud of fluffy beard. "I just get it for the recipes, Severus."

"I'm sure."

"Oh, just read the article!" McGonagall snapped irritably.

It was "A Match Made in Heaven" by Kate Risete. Several teachers followed suit with Professor Snape and raised their eyebrows, heavy with suspicion and skepticism.

Snape was quick to dismiss the article. "Should Potter want to spread the details of his love life to the magical community..." Dumbledore frowned. Despite this, Snape continued, "All he needed was an opportunity."

McGonagall cut in impatiently, "No, Harry did not." Snape snorted derisively. "You may doubt me, Severus, but should you read the article you'd know it portrays Potter in a less-than-heroic view."

"It makes him look like prat if you ask me," piped in Professor Sprout, scratching her head.

"A total jerk," agreed Professor Sinistra with a nod.

Professor Trelawney whispered, her eyes wide and slightly perturbing, "I have seen a woman! Perhaps a man-"

Minerva McGonagall hastily cut in, "Thank you for the clarification, Sibyll, that narrows it down considerably-"

"And red! Blood-red..." She trailed off on her own accord.

McGonagall let out, what might have been a sigh of relief, but someone in a generous frame of mind might have deemed it disappointment, and she continued as though Professor Trelawney had not spoken, "If a half-wit reporter can enter Hogwarts and learn this information..." Professor McGonagall's voice grew fainter, with repressed anxiety.

"Dumbledore, how?"

"It is a mystery to me-"

Flitwick stood up on his already elevated chair. "Should we make an announcement to the school saying that if they see-?"

"Really Filius, we have pictures lining every corridor, students up at all hours- despite what we tell them, ghosts roaming about, and teachers patrolling the halls..."

Professor Vector agreed, somewhat reluctantly, "We wouldn't want to scare the students unnecessarily..."

"They already know to be on awares..."

"What must we do?"

Dumbledore inwardly sighed, people always expected him to pull a miracle out of his hat.

Dumbledore pulled out a teapot from his fireplace and poured a quantity of glittering powder in his right hand. He held out his left and allowed a weak, but steady, trickle of sand to fall into it. Vague ideas somersaulted throughout his mind, forming a mess and tangle that only a pensieve could undo, but as he watched the grains fall, one idea surfaced and emblazoned itself over all of his other thoughts, Time is running out.

He shook his head as an applause of thunder echoed in the distance.

The storm approached slowly, biding its time in the distant horizon, But it will be here soon. Are we ready? Dumbledore looked out and saw little hope; the lightening was swift and fearful and did little to illuminate the bleak scenery. As he stood there, elucidated by the brief flashes, perhaps even Voldemort might have seen the mastery in his gaze or the solemnity and grim outlook in his countenance. However, to the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he was just a tired, old man, watching his dreams- and all his hope, fall to ruin.

****

"I hate mornings."

It was early and Ron sat at the crowded Gryffindor Table nursing a cup of tea. Partly because of force of habit and mostly because he wanted to knock some sense into Ron, Harry plopped himself into the empty seat next to him.

Ron looked up from his tea for the first time that morning. He did not join in the regular discourse of morning greetings and instead asked, "Where's Hermione?" Ron peered up and down the mostly empty table, "She's normally already up and studying at this hour."

Dean and Seamus shrugged.

"She's been sleeping in a bit later these days," Neville remarked carelessly, taking a mouthful of French toast.

"Can't say it wouldn't do her any good," Seamus added with his first frown for the day. "She always looks so tired."

Lavender, just stepping up to the table, leaned over and pecked Seamus on the cheek. Harry watched with amusement as Seamus turned bright red faster than a traffic light. He sipped his pumpkin juice.

Ginny slowly sauntered in, her nose glued inside a copy of the Witch Weekly.

"Morning Ginny!" Ron cried, "Hey, you can sit here!" he added, jumping up and vacating his seat next to Harry. Although nothing was said aloud, Harry knew this was Ron's way of apologizing for acting immaturely.

He grinned.

****

Professor Evaline Smethwyck strode into class in the best of moods. Her life seemed a little more hopeful. Then there was Potter.

He strode in like he owned the place with the ever-present and inevitable Weasley glued to his side like some red headed appendage. His friends all seated themselves around him, but he and the Weasley boy remained standing to give a note to their bushy-haired friend. The bell rang. Evaline smiled to herself.

"Potter. When the bell rings, you will be seated. Accio!" she snarled, flicking her wand at the harmless piece of parchment. "And there will be no note-passing in my class." Silence.

It was quickly broken by a whisper. With paranormal eeriness Evaline quickly pin-pointed the guilty Gryffindor. "Granger- I will see you after class." It gave her some pleasure, seeing the total transformation that over went Hermione Granger's face. Although, being a best friend with Weasley and Potter, she's probably been chastised before- reckless rule breakers that those two are. She continued, "Today I will show you the finer points of dueling and the Shield Charm which is helpful against-"

Another whisper from Potter's corner of the room.

"Potter! Weasley! Friday, next week you have detention with me."

"Bu- bu- but-," the Weasley boy was sputtering, looking more stupid that usual.

Harry was aghast, but at least spoke in discernable English. "Pr- Professor there must be some mistake. Next week is the Quidditch match against-"

"Potter- I don't care if your against the godawful Chudley Cannons, next Friday I expect you to test some of the charms-" Harry's face brightened, if Flitwick was in charge it wouldn't be so bad. Evaline noticed this and took particular joy in spitting out the next words, "-that Madam Pince has put on the library books."

Harry gulped. Madam Pince was known for the unusual hexes on the books in her care. So it was not a very happy Harry, who stood up and strode out of class, after the bell rang.

"Just wonderful. It's that time of month for Smethwyck and I get detention with Madam Pince," Harry muttered in an undertone, looking at his watch and walking a little bit faster to his next class, Transfiguration.

Ron sneered, "Don't you mean Professor Evaline? She acts all nice and all of a sudden she gives you a detention. And she insulted the Cannons."

"Yeah, what's with that?" Harry growled, holding on to his Transfiguration tighter than was strictly necessary.

"I know! I can't believe she insulted them!" Ron took Harry's sigh to be one of anger and disappointment with the Defense Against Dark Arts teacher.

Harry rounded a corner and smacked into someone.

He clapped a hand to his forehead, "Damn! What the hell-" He abruptly stopped. It was Rita Skeeter. Just what he needed- a headline that read: "Harry Potter: Pint-Sized Potty-Mouth."

"Rita Skeeter- what are you doing here?" Harry spat, not bothering to mask his disgust.

"Oh, hello Harry," she said pleasantly, as though she and Harry were old friends and meeting him was a pleasant surprise. "Even without me, you can't manage to keep out of the presses. You seem to have caught the attention of one particularly illustrious reporter." She smiled in a feral way as she resumed hurrying down the hallway as Harry massaged his forehead. "Head pains I'm sure-"

"Why can't you fu-" Ron coughed and nudged him, "leave me alone?"

Rita stopped in her brisk walk. She stared at him.

"You didn't answer my question."

She continued walking as though he had not spoken. Harry was no threat to her, for all his bravery, she knew that the pen- in this case the "Quick Quotes Quill"- was much mightier than the legendary, prepubescent hero. And a truly skilled reporter, by the name of Kate Risete, knew the full, unchallenged power of the press.

Rita intended to take advantage of that.

****

"Illustrious? Wait-" Hermione held out her hand, interrupting Harry's narrative, and frowned. "She said that- you're sure?"

Ron laughed. "I wouldn't use a word like that, that's for sure."

Hermione pulled out the infamous issue of the Witch Weekly.

Harry cut in hastily, putting out his hand in a preemptive gesture and casting a quick look around the nearly empty Common Room, "I've seen it already- once is enough thanks..."

To her true form, Hermione ignored him. "Look, Kate Risete uses the same adjective- 'illustrious' to describe herself. That's odd..."

"So she read the article and likes to quote her bovine chums-"

"Well, you said yourself that you haven't heard of her-" Hermione suddenly stopped and stared at Ron, "Her what chums?"

"Uh...bovine? C'mon you're supposed to know these things- it means-"

"I know what it means!" Hermione snapped. She gave a half-glance at Harry.

Ron added in an undertone, "It means 'cow-like,' just so you know." Ron grinned in a self-satisfied sort of way.

"I knew that," Harry said quickly, looking at Hermione oddly.

"That's not the point!" Hermione snapped irritably. "Anyway, you saw Rita here right?"

"Yeah..."

"Well there hasn't been anyone else who could be a reporter hanging around, and all the information in the article is pretty conclusive. Someone inside Hogwarts had to find out-" She stopped suddenly. "And look! She even mentions Rita!" she whipped out her wand and pointed to Rita Skeeter's name where it was quoted in the article, "Hey- what's this-? Risete- that's not a very common name is it?" Harry and Ron shrugged.

"Well look, it looks like it ought to be spelled with two t's or something. And Kate is common as a name by itself, but it's usually short for Katherine or something, right? I don't think reporters are supposed to- or would want to- use nicknames, unless it's obvious- I mean they want credit and all that stuff- And..." Hermione suddenly got a look of intense concentration on her face. She pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down the name 'Kate Risete' and next to it wrote 'Rita Skeeter'. Harry and Ron were baffled.

"Look there's one 'a' in Kate Risete and one 'a' in Rita Skeeter." She crossed out both a's. "Okay, and there are two 'e's in both names, too." She crossed all of them out. "And here 'i' and 'i'." She proceeded scoring through all the letters in both names in alphabetical order until both names were completely crossed out.

Ron furrowed his brow. "You're saying that Rita Skeeter and Kate Risete are the same person?"

The incredulity in his voice irritated her and immediately her voice became combative, "Well, why not? Rita wrote all this bad stuff about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; you know how she is. He's probably after her. Then I've got her little secret," Hermione grinned. "But she still hates you, Harry. And so does You-Know-Who. So she writes all this stuff to get her revenge on you and gets on You-Know-Who's good side."

"Assuming he has one..."

"Then there's her name- I mean that's a pretty big coincidence- even if it is just a coincidence."

"Yeah..."

"Don't you see? That explains how she found out all this stuff about you and still is safe from You-Know-Who and- well- me." Ron could tell that Hermione loved saying that.

She suddenly leapt up. "I'll see you guys later!"

Harry and Ron were exasperated. "Where're you off to?"

In one fluid and oddly graceful movement, she swung her book bag spinning quickly and having her huge masses of hair float and drift around her in a sort of bushy halo. As her hair settled back to its comfortable position on her shoulders, Hermione replied, "The library," as though this was the most obvious thing. Ron, looking back on that moment years later, knew it was. "See you at dinner!" Hermione hurried down a corridor. While she was in no rush, she was still wasting time. Useful time, so she thought it best to-

"Eek!" In one cataclysmic moment, she was on the floor, surrounded by drifting parchment that had once been her carefully organized notebook. Now it floated around her like some industrial-size snowstorm.

"Oh, look at this bloody mess-"

"Granger, my ears." Hermione said nothing, but she lifted her eyes to the Heavens and prayed that in the end she might be saved from prats like-

Malfoy pulled her off the floor and before another word could be uttered, he swiftly gathered together her papers. I stand corrected. This is was a possible first for Hermione Granger.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't." And he left her alone, leaving her papers neatly piled beside her and her emotions in utter disorder.

Solitude gave room for thinking. Thinking gave room for Malfoy. How had he, in that one moment, been able to capsize every fundamental belief she had? That one gesture- picking up her books and pulling her off the ground. He should have laughed. He should have kicked me when I was down. But he didn't. He gave me a hand and picked me up. She responded eagerly to that straightforward kindness.

She was like an addict- she desired it to sustain her and there had been a serious deterioration in her simple needs. Harry was wrapped up in Ginny- she wasn't jealous of the love they had for each other, but she was jealous of the fact that their love left her alone. And Ron- well, things with Ron were awkward. There was something there that wasn't there before, and it made conversation difficult. She needed to be rejuvenated- she needed kindness, even the rare and unexpected sort. Oddly enough, her fount has taken resident in her enemy. The direct insults had long stopped, with the reticence that came with maturity. True- it was a far cry from love, especially the kind of devotion Hermione sought, but- There had been something else. Something that had distinguished himself from his name. Some extra- something lacking. Something special. It's up to you Malfoy.

I'm forgetting everything. Everything that was said and done between us because of a moment- one moment when you lifted me from the ground... I think you smiled.

I don't think I've ever seen you really smile before.

****

Harry looked at his schedule. "Well, we have Care of Magical Creatures next."

"Oh joy."

Harry gave Ron a playful shove as they trundled past the greenhouses. "Lighten up, Ron. I mean we get to see Hagrid."

"I like seeing Hagrid. It's just the murderous creatures that Hagrid owns that I could do without."

Harry sighed, "Why can't we take care of something-"

"That doesn't think 'mmm...lunch' when they see our faces?"

Seamus interjected, "That enjoys long walks by the beach, and moonlight dining?" Silence. "I was just kidding." Ron shook his head. Seamus persisted, "I was just kidding!" Silence.

"All the same, I wish we could take care of something-"

"That's cute, cuddly, soft, and has a pink nose!" cried Neville. The Gryffindors stared at him. "We could take care of puppies!"

Dean shook his head sadly, "This is 'Care of Magical Creatures' class, Neville- not obedience school."

"That's what they call Muggle schools!" Harry didn't bother to correct Ron.

As they approached they heard- it was impossible not to hear- a wailing sound that sounded something like someone beating up a cat with a violin.

"A'right! Settle down class! I got a big s'prise fer yeh!" There was a collective cringe.

"It's a banshee!" Seamus cried, turning pale and crouching behind Lavender Brown.

"Don' be silly, Seamus. Banshee's're frankly dangerous. I couldn' do that ter a whole class."

The Slytherins snickered.

Hagrid gestured vaguely at the cages behind him, "Does anyone know what these're?"

Hermione's hand shot up and without waiting to be called upon she answered promptly, "That," she said with some distaste, "Is an Augurey." She took a deep breath, "A bird, resembling an anorexic vulture with green and black plumage-"

"Tell us something we don't know, Granger!" snapped Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione threw a dirty look at Pansy, but continued as though she had not been interrupted. "-that incidentally repels ink. It's very shy and is only seen during rain, and otherwise is found only in its tear-shaped nest of bramble and thorns. Its cry is distinct because of its low and throbbing sound-"

"Can't you get it to shut up?" snapped Malfoy, putting his dragon-hide gloved hands over his ears. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike assumed Malfoy meant their over-achieving classmate, and not the wailing birds. Hermione looked put out.

"Why? Why, Hagrid, why?" whined Parvati Patil, on the verge of hysteria.

Hagrid apparently misunderstood the nature of this question.

"Some folks say that th' Augurey's sing before death."

All heads swung in Harry's direction, as though some mysterious puppeteer was impelling them to face him. Harry looked away and began whistling. Too bad he couldn't really whistle.

Hagrid, seeing their reaction, hastened to amend his statement, "Codswallop, in my opinion. I think they sing when it rains."

"What brilliant birds!" Draco exclaimed, sarcastically, "Was it the dark rain clouds overhead or the rumble of thunder that tipped them off? What useful... things! I can definitely see why someone would want to take care of one of them!"

Hagrid was no genius, but the sarcasm in Malfoy's voice couldn't have been clearer if the words, 'Yes, Hagrid, I am being sarcastic,' were written upon his face. He growled, "Malfoy... I'm warnin' yeh-"
A flash. Lightening. The sky opened up with a thunderous crack- pouring hateful tumults of rain on the already unhappy students.

"Class dismissed!" Hagrid cried to the grateful students. "Malfoy yeh'll stay after an' help me put away these cages."

Harry and Ron looked guiltily at an increasingly wet Hagrid trying to get the cages, with the wailing flapping birds inside his hut, but if they were early for their detention there was always hope that Madam Pince would be merciful and let them leave with all their limbs. So before Hermione could reproach them, they ran off. Hermione was not in favor of getting wet and listening to wailing, but her conscience tugged at her to help him. No need to nag, I'm going, I'm going.

She muttered, "Mobiliavis!" to the first cage with a resigned air.

Providence was apparently in a merciful mood and, as quickly as it came, the rain stopped and the rest of the cages were packed away in relative silence. Hagrid was put out that his lesson had ended so quickly and unpleasantly. Hermione was a mess- her already bushy hair would be nothing short of frazzled by the time it was dry. Malfoy was sopping- his expensive robes were soaked through and his hair was uncharacteristically messy. Conversation would have been out of the question.

So it was a dripping Hermione who made her way as gracefully as she could, under the circumstances, but who felt cleared in her mind that she had done something good. Ron and Harry will so get hell from me about this.

Plop. It was raining again. If it was anything like before- it'll come down in a sudden downpour. Plop. Plop. Plop.

She sprinted to greenhouse three and shut the door, just as the deluge came- a huge torrent of water that came pelting down on the glass roof. Pulling out her wand, she thought, I might as well start charming my stuff so that they repel water-

With a bang, another bolted through the door and tried to shut the furious gusts out that pummeled the door with nature's fickle fury. It was Malfoy. She put her wand back into her pocket.

Not in the best of moods, Hermione muttered, "God, I hate this rain. And I hate you, Malfoy," as though somehow the storm was the result of the pale, blonde-haired boy before her. "I can't believe I'm stuck here until this lets up..." she moaned, looking at the relentless downfall.

Draco remained undaunted. "We both know you could have charmed your robes to repel water." A lambent gleam had entered his eyes, daring Hermione to say something more.

"So could've you." Stalemate.

No reaction was discernable from either's countenance. They stood together somewhat uneasily, in tentative silence. In his typical abrupt manner, Draco broke the awkwardness with a shattering phrase, "Now that we've both realized we're here because we want to be here and not because of this rain why don't you tell me what you think we should do?"

Hermione sat on a nearby bench. "Why don't we just talk?"

Draco was silent for a moment. I can leave, and the daily grind of insults can continue. The same thing. The roles that we've both gotten sick of- but were so experienced at. Just like before. Still undecided, he remained standing. "Okay... what do you want to talk about?"

Hermione tipped over her hat and a sizable cascade of water poured out. "Definitely, not the weather."

Amused, Draco moved not a single muscle except for the one that moved his left eyebrow, which rose, slowly and sardonically and- he laughed. It had been a long time since he laughed. It was odd. She was odd. She was young, as old as he was, but she seemed so naïve because she possessed that indefinable quality they called innocence. She was so different in that way- her own person, and all the more captivating because of it.

He sat down.

They sat for several moments in companionable quiet.

Draco hesitantly broke it again, "So Hermione..." He realized his mistake after he had said her name, but it seemed so natural- as though he had reached a comfort level he hadn't even achieved with Crabbe and Goyle even after many years of friendship. He hoped she hadn't noticed.

She looked at him oddly and averted her eyes, "You called me Hermione."

"And here I was, thinking that it was your name-" He smacked his forehead in mock consternation.

"It's just that... you've never called me that before."

"Granger then."

"No, Hermione's just fine." She gave him a shadow of a smile and hastened to add, "It's better than Mudblood-"

"Oh please, that was so first year," Draco snorted, doing an uncanny imitation of Pansy.

"And second year. And third year. And fourth year-"

Draco pulled out his wand and prepared to charm his cloak.

Right on cue, Hermione asked, "D'you like the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher?"

"I guess. She's nice and everything." He suddenly sounded distant. "I seem to know her from somewhere, though."

Feigning innocence, Hermione responded, "Right. Does she have a secret desire to torture Muggles, too?"

"What would a stupid Mu-"

Hermione pulled out her wand and put it between his eyes before he could even realize what was going on. "Don't make me use this."

At her sudden movement, he flinched. The memory of the slap stung his pride more than it had ever hurt him. He was affronted, and moreover surprised to find himself in a rather precarious situation. "You know- you'd be really good at dueling, if you tried it-"

Hermione beamed. "Really? You think so?" To Draco, it was obvious she was fishing for a compliment.

"Yeah," Draco said, half resentfully, "You're good at everything." Hermione smiled in a satisfied sort of way, and he could almost see her ego inflating like a balloon. "Except Quidditch." The balloon popped.

Hermione retorted, "This from someone who couldn't catch the Snitch if it was the size of his ego and hovered around him like Crabbe and Goyle." Draco scowled, and Hermione, seeing that, quickly amended, "You're still good, though."

Draco was still sore and snapped, "I don't need you to tell me that," and the implied, You don't know anything about Quidditch, anyway.

Hermione hated that. "I mean the way you did that..." Hermione desperately searched for the name of a Quidditch move, from Quidditch Worldwide - An Evolution of the Classing Sport in Foreign Countries Containing a Brief Description of Their Teams and Strategies With a 'How-to' for the Adventurous Quidditch Player, "You know...that Porskoff Ploy."

Draco smiled indulgently. "I was wonderful, wasn't I? But I wonder what I was doing-" he paused, wholly for the theatrical effect, "Doing a Chaser diversionary tactic- when I'm Seeker." Hermione was horrified. "Perhaps I could help you? You seem a little confused." Draco loved saying that. "There's a great book- Quidditch Worldwide - An Evolution of the Classing Sport in Foreign Countries Containing a Brief Description of Their Teams and Strategies With a 'How-to' for the Adventurous Quidditch Player- believe me; its shorter than the name implies. The title is pretty much self-explanatory-"

"I could be an authority on Quidditch," Hermione sniffed, "if I cared enough. I read all about the best kinds of racing brooms, various international teams-"

"Forget what I said before. The only way a book can help you become a better flier is if you attach wings to it and fly it. Good luck."

Hermione tossed her head in a way that particularly infuriated Ron. "I bet you didn't know that wizards and witches were flying broomsticks as early as-"

"A.D 962." Draco laughed again. "You know what? You think too much, you...you..." He shrugged. He just didn't have a single mean thing to say. For the second time in his life, Hermione had robbed him of his sarcastic humor, the first time being the Yule Ball. And he was further disarmed.

Hermione laughed, "I'm supposed to be offended by that? Oh c'mon, that was really pathetic."

Draco looked at her full in the face and gave her a hint of a smile. "Maybe, insulting you isn't so important to me anymore." He paused, "Maybe it was never really important to begin with." It was fun though. I do so love being evil.

"Maybe, just maybe," Hermione paused weighing her words with uncharacteristic deliberation, "I can learn to forget..." That was so cheesy. Interrupting herself impatiently with decision, she said, "Okay," she shrugged, "That wasn't hard. Your crimes are forgotten- now get out of my face you Malfoy slime, before I have to use it to-"

Draco quickly covered her mouth with his hand, not even registering her contact with him as unclean. "Stop talking. You're giving me a headache." He looked at the sky, which had long stopped raining and then quickly glanced at his watch, "Dinner's soon. Let's go."

****

Before entering the library, Harry ran a hand through his messy hair; as much as it annoyed him, he couldn't imagine what it would be like without it. All I can do now is cross my fingers, hope for the best, and trust in Madam Pomfrey's Mediwizard skills.

Ron gulped. "I hope by the end of this night I still have all of my fingers."

Harry hesitated before pushing open the door. "You know Ron, we're going to look back on all this and laugh."

"Yeah- at each other, once Madam Pince is through with us." Ron pushed open the heavy oaken doors to the library with a resigned air.

"Well, at least we're early. That'll tip the scales in our favor."

They needn't have bothered. Professor Evaline was overseeing their detention.

"I was just doing some last-minute researching and thought I might drop in on your detention," she said pleasantly. "Don't worry I'll leave once Madam Pince arrives." Ron nodded coldly as he treated every anti-Chudley Cannons advocator with the utmost suspicion. This, unfortunately for Ron, was most of the school. He always had to be on his guard.

As Professor Evaline drifted among the bookshelves behind them, they seated themselves at a nearby table. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly, "Hey Harry, listen, you know I never did apologize for being such a prat about...you and...Ginny."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "It's ok, Ron. Forget it."

"Still, before anything is final with you guys-" Ron grinned, but it quickly turned threatening "-I want Cho out of the picture."

Harry shifted uneasily in his chair, "I know, but..."

"Listen- my sister isn't going to be second-best to anyone, not even my best friend. I wont stand for it." Ron winked. "She won't stand for it either. We Weasley's have got more than red hair in common with us. Beware the Weasley temper." Ron wagged a finger under Harry's nose.

"I'll- uh... keep that in mind."

****

"I'm glad that's over," Harry sighed, stretching and rubbing his sore joints as climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor Common Room. "Madam Pomfrey said it'll grow back."

"The stinging sensation under my skin is getting better." Ron rolled his eyes. "Trust Madam Pince to give us a hard time."

Looking at his watch, Harry sighed, "Nine o'clock- so much for Quidditch practice."

"How did Rita found out about Cho? Could she have just Apparated here-"

Ron began, "You can't App-"

"You can't Apparate on or to the Hogwarts grounds, how many times do I have to tell you?!" shrieked Hermione from behind them, loosing all control.

"Well, they have to still be on the grounds to know this stuff..." Harry looked edgily at Hermione and took a hesitant step back. "We're not even sure if it was Rita. Someone could have been telling her all this crap."

"Hey!" Ron said excitedly and they mounted the steps that led to the Gryffindor dorms, "We have a way of finding out if people who don't belong here are here..." the corridor was empty, but he lowered his voice nonetheless, "We can check the map right?"

Harry's face lit up, "Yeah! And then we can follow them and figure out where they're off to!"

Hermione looked alarmed. "Wha- what? Following mysterious people- in the middle of the night no less! This person could be much more than just a reporter you know!"

Ron and Harry both smiled with anticipation and turned around as though she hadn't spoken. "Anyway, we'll check every night-"

"-And when we find them we can use that balding charm I used on Pansy Parkinson last year-"

"Instant cue-ball or instant scalping or something?"

"Yeah!- and-"

"Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley! You leave this tower after hours and I'll- I'll..." her voice faded as she quickly searched for an option. "I'll take points away from us!" She pointed an accusing finger at them, "D'you want to be responsible for losing say- fifty points from Gryffindor?"

Harry and Ron's jaws dropped simultaneously. Hermione smiled, seeing that she had made an impact on her two friends. I love being a Prefect. Hermione tactfully resisted the urge to laugh maniacally. Time for that later.

However, when Ron and Harry closed the door to the boy's dormitories their faces broke in identical grins. After checking around to make sure they were completely alone, Harry opened his trunk and pushed aside his most valuable possessions almost carelessly in search of the map. He sighed. It was half an hour later, and even with half a dozen magical compartments- the tattered piece of parchment could only be in so many places.

Ron scowled, carrying Harry's prized possessions and dumping them back into the trunk. "So where is it?"

Harry shrugged, his forehead creasing and his mouth tightening into a thin, hard line. The Marauder's Map was nowhere to be seen.

A/N

: Also, to clarify something, I think that Draco honestly loves his parents, but as his father committed suicide in the middle of a Muggle World Leaders meeting, I think that he's just afraid of having the same fate. So, no he doesn't hate his dad. Also, should he decide to disagree with his father's beliefs, that doesn't mean he doesn't love his father either.