The Hogwarts Poets' Society

Harry looked at the top of his four-poster bed and tried, yet again, to fall asleep. He had thought that he would be insanely happy to be out of the closet and back in his dormitory. Big open spaces, his bed and pillow, and no Draco Malfoy...it couldn't possibly get any better than this! But for the past four hours he had listened to Neville and Ron snore quietly as he did not fall asleep.

He rolled over. He tried kicking off his blankets. He tried reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood one hundred times to himself. It didn't work. Finally, he felt as though he might as well get up and try going back to the closet. Sleep, any sleep, even sleep in a crowded, smelly closet full of bad memories, would be better then this.

He grabbed his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's map and crept out of the dormitory. When he reached the common room, however, he was struck with the fact that he wasn't quite sure where the closet was. He knew that it was in an empty classroom where they had held the Poets' Society meeting, but he hadn't remembered how he had gotten there the first time and he was so relieved that he was free after the meeting tonight that he hadn't paid attention to where he was going.

This was a dilemma indeed! It wasn't marked on the Marauder's Map. Well, it was, but not in such a way that would make it stand out at Harry. It was just one closet in an empty classroom in a castle that had an overabundance of closets in unused classrooms.

But as he sat and thought about it he realized that he wasn't really physically tired. He was bored, really, and he wanted to sleep because sleeping seemed like it was the right thing to do. You're never bored when you're asleep.

It was about two AM and suddenly Harry realized that the castle was as alive with possibility as it had been the first night he had gone out with his Invisibility Cloak. The familiar excitement, one that he hadn't felt in years, hummed up and down him demanding adventure that risked detention and house points, not his life and soul. He thought about where he would go, what he would do.

Where would he go? It had been different, very different, in his first year when he the castle was his unfamiliar home. But now he knew the castle like the back of his hand, only better. He never really paid attention to the back of his hand. The castle, though, was more a part of him than anything he had ever known. It was home.

He glanced over the Marauder's Map before taking it back up to his dormitory. He looked at Ron sleeping, though he looked much the same as he did when he was in a class. Harry knew that Ron wasn't as dumb as he let on sometimes. He could be clever when he wanted to be. The problem was that he just never wanted to be.

He looked at his sleeping friend again and left a quickly scrawled note and left it on his pillow.

The castle was alive, Harry decided solemnly. The whole place was quiet, and yet it was not quiet, with the subtle energy of a place filled with people. He didn't run into anyone (or anything) for awhile and silently swore at himself that he hadn't brought the Marauder's Map. It had seemed like a way to bring back the uncertainty and authenticity of exploring the castle after dark, but now it only seemed reckless and stupid.

"Can't sleep, Potter?" drawled a voice from the shadows. Harry jumped about a mile. He looked around and didn't know where he was. He realized he was under the Invisibility Cloak and didn't know how he had been noticed. "Your foot is showing!"

Harry realized that at this point whoever it was definitely knew he was based solely on the appearance of his sneaker, and that staying under his Invisibility Cloak was completely and utterly pointless. Humbly, he took off his cloak.

"I knew it was you," the drawling voice said triumphantly. "You can't sleep, either?"

Either? Who was this mysterious person in the shadows with a drawling voice? Harry felt a little bit as though he had been caught red-handed doing something wrong. Technically, he had been doing something wrong, but it was quite unnerving not knowing who had caught him. If it was Filch, or Snape, or McGonagall, or even Peeves, Harry's heart would take up residence somewhere in his stomach, and he would mentally begin making plans for his expulsion. If it was Dumbledore, Harry would feel a little bit guilty. Maybe not as much as he had in previous years, because Dumbledore had locked him in a closet with his sworn arch-enemy, but he would have a little bit of guilt, because it just wasn't right to be caught wandering around when you were one of those people prone to finding themselves in life-threatening situations. If it was Nearly-Headless Nick (not likely, judging by the voice) or the Fat Lady or any of the other ghosts who would most likely just give him a warning and talk with him a bit about random things before sending him off to bed, Harry would feel very relieved.

But it was none of these people, Harry knew. He could tell by the voice. It was a drawling, sarcastic voice with a familiar ring to it that made the hair on Harry's neck stand up.

"Oh, please, are you seriously that dense?" Draco asked, obviously annoyed as he stepped out of the shadows. "Your confusion ruined my dramatic effect!"

Harry burst into laughter as he realized that he hadn't recognized the voice of one Draco Darling Malfoy, and that said Malfoy had been going for a dramatic effect.

"What's the purpose of having a dramatic effect?" Harry asked through snorts of laughter. "I hate you, remember?"

Draco's face darkened significantly.

"You hate me, huh?"

"Yeah. We're not in that stupid closet anymore. Everything can go back to normal now!"

Draco looked haughty and turned away, turning to stalk his away angrily back to the Slytherin common room. Harry, seeing him go, was disappointed in a way. At least if he had hung around with Malfoy he would have had company for awhile.

"Oi! Malfoy!" he called. Draco turned back around. He wasn't sure why he was angry that Harry had wanted things to go back to normal. What had he expected? Friendship? No way in hell!

"What do you want?" Draco spat back.

"Do you want to go down to the kitchens with me?" Harry asked politely. Draco thought for a moment. Perhaps the Gryffindor was just feeling guilty. Perhaps it was a trap. Nah, that wasn't very likely. He didn't think Potter could think that far ahead. He could go back to the common room and mope, but he was kind of hungry.

"Sure," he called and jogged a bit to catch up to him.