Demons at Hand

"Mr. Weasley, are you paying attention or drooling?"

Ron shook himself out of his dream rather reluctantly, and looked back at the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

"Pardon?" he asked. Several of his classmates, including Harry, laughed at this.

"I was merely wondering if you were concentrating on drooling rather than the N.E.W.T preparation sheet I had handed out earlier," she said harshly. Everything about her--from her name, McGovern, to her looks--made everyone sure that, in some way, she was related to Professor McGonagall.

"And, if you are indeed drooling rather than studying, would you care to tell us who you are drooling over?"

Ron would rather swallow a Blast-Ended Skrewt than tell Professor McGovern who he was dreaming about, seeing as his dream was sitting right next to him, looking at him with interest. He glanced at her, and she half-smiled at him, and he turned to look at Professor McGovern.

"Um, begging your pardon miss, but I frankly would rather spend an entire lesson with Professor Snape," he said. He could hear Harry stifling a laugh to his left, and Hermione giggling to his right. Both sounds made him feel braver. Professor McGovern smiled, and then nodded.

"Ah, well spoken, Mr. Weasley," she said, turning to write on the blackboard. Professor McGovern had a good sense of humour, thank the lord.

"But, I'd just like to add that, if you really would like to spend an entire lesson with Professor Snape, it can be arranged," she said. Behind her, Ron's ears turned scarlet as everyone in the classroom burst into howls of laughter.

~*~

It was a hot, muggy day, three weeks into the school term, and already the skies were becoming dark and broody. All this, of course, suited Draco just fine. It matched his mood perfectly, seeing as he'd had no luck with the instructions that the Dark Lord had bestowed upon him. He was forbidden to speak of it, to keep it locked inside his mind and follow them personally. He was not to be distracted, and was not to be side-tracked by his own personal temptations. He was to find Harry's one greatest weakness, and use it against him. But so far, he was having no luck, having found no weaknesses, no flaws in his enemy's character, nothing, and that thought burned in him like a fire threatening to eat him up. Staring moodily at his goblet, he felt the presence of someone behind him, but did not bother to look. It was obvious who it was--only one person was allowed in his personal dormitory, and that was Pansy Parkinson, who had been visiting him for the past five weeks, and they had not been studying.

Taking the fragile glass goblet in his hands, he closed his grip on it, cracking it as he thought. Pansy Parkinson had turned up at the beginning of Sixth Year somewhat changed. Of course, she still had her up-turned nose, but it didn't make her look like a pug any more. She'd lost all the puppy fat she'd been carrying around for the past fifteen years, which also proved to be a surprise seeing as her family had a rather long history of, should he say, horizontally challenged witches and wizards. And she...well, to his absolute shame, Draco had to say he was attracted to her, not mentally or anything like that--a Malfoy didn't have time to get mentally attracted--but physically.

A soft hand touched him on the shoulder, but still he did not turn around to look at her.

"What do you want, Pansy?" he said, in no mood for anything right now.

"Oh, the usual, Draco," a smirking voice said. It was undoubtedly pretty, but nothing stirred within Draco just then.

"Not tonight."

"Oh, don't you feel like it?"

"No, I don't," Draco replied, harsher than he would usually talk to her. Walking around the chair, Pansy stood in front of him, and sneered.

"Afraid you might like it?" she said, sitting on his legs. He eyed her up. Indeed she was pretty, prettier than the average schoolgirl, but there were some people that made her look like a shadow on the wall, people that would always be beautiful. Ginny Weasley, however he may not like it, was beautiful, in her own slight-framed, flame-haired way. Parvati and Padma Patil were beautiful, with their long, sleek black Indian hair and dark skin. Lavender Brown was beautiful. And, as much as he hated to say it, Luna Lovegood, however strange she seemed, was beautiful. All of them were people that that Draco hated, but he could not help feeling jealous over the boys that were allowed to see them, touch them, kiss them...and here he was, stuck with a pretty girl, but not pretty enough for his tastes, no, not pretty enough...

"Answer me, Draco."

Draco raised his eyebrows, and smiled coldly, and then shifted in his seat.

"You win," he said quietly, feeling suddenly tired. She smiled as if Christmas had just come early, and brought her face close to his.

"You know just how much I love to win..."

~*~

Harry walked quickly and quietly towards the gargoyle that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Already he was late, having been sidetracked by Hermione urging him to cancel to finish his homework. Muttering the password, he vaulted up the moving staircase, and knocked on the door. Inside he could hear various mutterings stop, and he hoped that he had only heard the portraits.

"Come in, Harry."

Edging open the door, Harry's eyes almost popped out of his head. Every single professor that taught at Hogwarts was assembled there, all watching him intently. Hagrid stood right at the back of the crowd, absolutely beaming, and waved at him, his black beetle eyes crinkled up. Dropping his bag in a corner of the room, he just stood there, taking it all in with a very obvious look of surprise on his face.

"Ah, Harry, I'm glad you finally made it!" Dumbledore said, emerging from the crowd, beaming.

"Uh, yeah, um, sorry, Professor, I got, uh, a little sidetracked," he said, still slightly unnerved by everyone's continued stares.

"Nothing to worry about, Harry. Come, come, and sit down!" Dumbledore said, pointing at a wall. A chair sort of fell out of it, and Harry cautiously sat down, looking around. No one seemed to want to talk, and Harry just sat there awkwardly, waiting for someone to break the silence. As if on cue, Fawkes floated down and perched on the back of Harry's chair, whistling out a sweet, pure note as he did so. Harry smiled, and reached a hand up to pat him.

" 'Lo, Fawkes," he said quietly, and the bird made a noise much like a purr.

"So, Harry. I see you were surprised when you first entered my office," Dumbledore said, watching Harry intently.

"Uh, yeah, I was," he said slowly. "I didn't realise everyone would be here."

"Forgive me then, for confusing you. The professors at Hogwarts have a vast horde of knowledge stored, from the basics which we all share, to the individual branches that we specialise in. Together, we can teach more than just one alone. So, if you will, each teacher here will teach you a skill, a skill that could help you immensely if you master it," he said, leaning forwards slightly. Harry noticed that Snape was here, and would prefer if he learned from just the other professors. He tended to avoid any classroom with Snape in it, and would pay his weight in gold to steer clear of Snape alone in a classroom. The last time he'd been alone with Snape, he hadn't liked it. Dumbledore, as if reading his mind, chuckled.

"You'll have to learn from all of us, Harry, and not just a select few," he said. Harry licked dry lips, and considered this for a moment. What could Snape teach him that would be of use to him? Nothing was the first word that rang in his mind, and it was the only word he could come up with after that.

"Ok," he said softly. Dumbledore smiled, and then clicked his fingers, and a piece of paper materialised out of thing air, floating down into his open hands.

"For you," he said, and the paper flew across the room, straight into Harry's hands. Scanning the paper, he realised it was a sort of lesson plan. Each of the teachers had written in their own personal time and day, and he realised he would be seeing each teacher once every week, personally. Flexing his shoulders--the chair was dreadfully uncomfortable--he looked at it again, and noted with a smile that it was called Harry's Lesson Plan of Useful Skills. Laughing, he stashed it away in his bag, and then looked at Dumbledore again.

"Is that all, professor?" he asked, catching Snape's eye. He was standing in the background, looking as if he'd been forced to sign the lesson plan, and Harry felt a pang of satisfaction in his stomach. As long as he was making Snape suffer, he'd gladly go to the lessons.

"That's all, Harry. You can go. Be back here next week at the same time for your first lesson," Dumbledore said, nodding towards the door. Grinning, Harry left swiftly, suddenly looking forwards to his extra lessons.

~*~

Ginny sat in the middle of a crowd of her school friends, laughing harder than she'd laughed in a long time. Luna Lovegood sat next to her, tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, dear, Elizabeth...ha ha ha!...no more jokes!" Luna gasped, gripping on to Ginny's arm for support. Elizabeth, a pretty girl from Hufflepuff, laughed.

"Hmm, well, I supposed if you can't take my jokes, I should stop telling them," she said, flicking a strand of raven-black hair out of her face.

"Lizzie, we can take your jokes, just not ten in a row!" Roan chuckled. Roan was another pretty girl, this time in Ravenclaw. She had strangely red hair--whenever the light caught it, it made it look as if it had multiple white streaks in it.

"Crap. You just don't like the fact that I can make up better jokes than you can, Ro!" Elizabeth said.

"Well, I prefer your jokes any day. At least they're not practical," Ginny said, remembering Fred and George's idea of a funny joke--namely, the water balloon they'd bewitched over the holidays to drop on her head.

"Ooo! Look, there they are!" a girl called Molly squealed, pointing over the group's head. Everyone turned to look collectively, and immediately Ginny tuned around, and blushed crimson. Harry was walking past, but what she didn't notice was Draco walking the opposite direction.

"Ginny, watch this!" Luna whispered in her ear, and she turned around. Harry was turning around to look at them in confusion--he obviously didn't understand why everyone was watching him with dreamy looks in their eyes--and, as he turned, Draco Malfoy, who was just passing him, stuck out his foot in the hopes to trip him. Automatically Harry stepped over the offending foot, and then locked eyes with Ginny, smiled slightly, and then walked on. Draco Malfoy squinted, threw a quick look over to Ginny, who had blushed, and was smiling, still looking after Harry. Then he turned his gaze towards Harry's retreating back, and then he smiled, as if he'd just been let in on a very big secret, and then he doubled back on himself, walking back the way he'd come, following Harry. All the girls immediately began to swap theories of what was going to happen.

"What's they bet they're going to duel?" Roan said. Almost everyone agreed, but Elizabeth shook her head.

"No, not on school grounds. It'd be too dangerous. The penalties for duelling without adult supervision are 50 House Points and detention for a week. Neither of them are dumb enough to risk that," she said sensibly, and Ginny nodded, agreeing with her.

"Wouldn't it be so funny if they were secret lovers or something?" Molly asked, smirking. Some of the girls looked excited at this, but the rest turned away, pulling faces. Sapphire, a blue-haired Slytherin, and the only Slytherin of the group, raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, I don't think so, Mol. Judging by the girly screams that drift down from his room every night, he's definitely not shagging any guy," she said, smirking.

"Do you know who he's, ahem, 'seeing'?" Kes, a husky-voiced Scotlander in Ravenclaw, asked.

"Oh, yeah. It's flaming news around the common room. Each night, Pansy Parkinson goes down to 'study' and doesn't come out until the moaning stops," she said, smiling. Each girl exchanged looks that roughly translated as 'oh, yuk, he's seeing her?' and then they continued on with their conversation, swapping gossip.

~*~

Draco followed his quarry like a cat stalks its prey. Turning a corner, he followed Harry at a distance, keeping the sound he made to a minimum. Harry took a sudden left, and Draco quietly bided his time for a while, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the ugliest statue he'd ever seen. Three professors walked around the corner, nodding at him and then muttering amongst themselves at how well-educated in the appreciation of art every Malfoy seemed to be. Rolling his eyes, Draco straightened up. What everyone seemed to miss was that every Malfoy, whenever they were about to cause trouble or were stalking someone, could be always found near a piece of art as a backup plan. That had been the first thing Draco's father had taught him before his first year at Hogwarts, and it had never failed him.

Glancing around, Draco made sure the coast was clear before taking the sharp left Harry had taken. He was facing a long corridor, with old, unused classrooms running along it. Taking his time, Draco peered into every room, making it seem like he was just looking around. In truth he was scanning for any sign of recent activity--another trick his father had taught him. Finding every room empty, Draco ground his teeth in frustration, and then turned around, and froze. Harry was standing there, his wand pointing levelly at Draco's chest. Another lesson his father had taught him--always aim at your opponent's heart. If one intends to hit the other with a curse, the chest-area tends to be the least protected of the entire body, besides the eyes.

"Why are you following me?" Harry asked quietly. Draco eyed the wand carefully, and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Just you make your life hell, I guess," he drawled.

"Oh dear, you're really going to make my life hell. I'm so terrified. What are you going to do--hit me with a curse?" he said, faking a look of horror.

"Fuck you, Potter."

"That hurt, Malfoy. That really hurt. I think I'll just bleed to death--your words are so...so harmful."

"The Dark Lord will get you," Draco sneered.

"Not if you fuck up whatever you're supposed to be doing for him this year. He'll probably get rid of you first, knowing his methods," Harry replied coldly, backing off, not lowering his wand.

"You won't be so confident once you find out what he's planning."

"As if I care, Malfoy, as if I care."

"You should, because you'll be screaming for instant death when you find out. Have a good day, Harry," Draco said, smiling coldly, turning the corner and disappearing, leaving Harry brewing of what he'd just heard.

~*~

Luna Lovegood watched Draco Malfoy closely. She didn't trust him, not after she'd seen the look he'd used between Harry and Ginny earlier that week, when Malfoy had tried to trip Harry, and he'd jumped, sending the slightest smile Ginny's way. Malfoy had seen it, but no one else except Luna, and she had also seen his expression, as if he'd been adding two and two together to receive the larger picture. She'd also spotted the satisfied smile he wore on his face as he turned to follow Harry, though not with much luck, it seemed, because a few minutes later he returned with his usual scowl, catching her eyes and sneering. She'd responded by holding up her middle finger at him, and he'd bared his teeth and stalked off. He may be used to riches at home, but here at Hogwarts almost everyone who wasn't a Slytherin--and even then there were those who didn't believe that becoming a Death Eater was the ideal life--was intent on making his life, and everyone else whose father and/or mother was a known Death Eater, complete and utter hell. Currently she was in the library, pretending to be reading a book, but in truth she was watching Malfoy with all the precision of a hawk. For a girl who was proclaimed to be strange and weird, she had amazing knowledge of what went on around her, seeing as no one bothered her, leaving her to observe everything alone. This arrangement suited her just fine--whenever she thought something that might be useful for anyone else to know, she would tell them, but unless that happened, she would keep all her observations to herself, watching and waiting.

Sighing, she put down her book, as if just having finished it, and got up to change it. A shadow passed over the bookcase, and, immediately knowing her cover was blown, she picked a random book, turned around to pick up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and left the library, all too aware that Draco Malfoy had seen her, and was following her.

Stupid bastard, she thought, rounding a corner and taking up in an empty classroom. Making herself comfortable on a desk, she propped open her book on her lap and did not blink an eye as Malfoy entered the room, snarling.

"You were watching me in the library," he said dangerously, coming closer to her. Luna didn't even bother to look up at him, flicking through the pages.

"Bravo. They actually teach you something at that home of yours besides blackmail," she said, wrenching the book out of his grasp as his hand snaked out to grab it. Immediately she had his interests--it was not every day that a girl managed to ignore him completely. Scowling even harder, he examined her, sizing her up. She was slender, with gracefully curved shoulders, an arched back, and dirty blonde hair that fell to just past her shoulders; it seemed she had gotten frustrated with her waist-length hair, and decided to cut it.

"If you look me up again, I'll hex you into next week," Luna said lightly, still absorbed with her book. Draco sneered at her, and backed off, still watching her.

"I'd watch my back if I were you, Lovegood," he said harshly, and she shrugged. And then, almost as if on second thought, she looked at him in the eyes. She had startlingly clear gray eyes. Her gaze was not enough to intimidate him, but enough to slightly shake Draco as he walked out of the door, still looking at her, hating her with every fibre of his being.

"Oh, no, Draco, I think it's you who needs to watch your step," she said, her voice oddly vague although her eyes were still sharply focused on him. He sneered at her, and then turned around, walking out of the corridor. But as soon as he'd gotten out into the main corridor, he tripped over a step he did not see, toppling head over heels. Luckily no one was about to see him get up, smoothing down his crumpled hair, looking for all the world like he'd just been jumped.

~*~

It was Harry's first lesson in Dumbledore's office, and he waited patiently until one of his professors appeared. He had been early, and had contented himself with examining the portraits of the old Headmasters and mistresses. They were all pretending to be asleep, but here and there, out of the corner of his eye, he could see them peering at him, but whenever he looked in their direction, they would be asleep again, filling the air with exaggerated snores.

"Ah, Harry! You're here!"

Harry turned around, and nodded at the tiny Charms professor, who was beaming up at him. Levitating himself up until he was standing on Dumbledore's desk--and even then the top of his head would have only just tickled Harry's chin--Professor Flitwick immediately began, not wanting to waste any time. Over the years he'd grown fond of the Boy Who Lived, almost too fond, and had been only too eager to help him when Dumbledore had confronted him with the teaching task. Any skill that could possibly help him survive in the Final Battle (each and every professor had been briefed on that the day before Harry's first school year at Hogwarts began) would be taught eagerly by the small professor, who, despite his small size, was a powerful enough wizard when it came to defending himself. Taking a small book out of his pocket, Professor Flitwick licked a finger and began to page through it, squinting and mouthing words. Finally, after what seemed like ages of flicking and muttering, Professor Flitwick sighed and smiled.

"Ah. Here we are," he murmured, peering at the old, torn pages of the tiny book he held. Smiling, he put the book away.

"What I'll be teaching you is the Greater Shield of Light," he said, grinning. Harry blinked. Greater Shield of Light? That can't be... he thought.

"Um, Professor? Are you...sure?"

"Well, Harry, it's been a rather long while since I've used this spell, seeing as I haven't had to protect myself," he said cheerfully. "But, of course, I know it like the back of my hand, and you'll be learning it, and hopefully it will be of use to you," he added, not betraying the immense sadness that was suddenly welling inside him. Jumping off the desk lightly and waddling across the floor, he made his way to the middle of the room. Harry made to follow him, but he held up a hand and shook his head.

"Just watch, Harry," he said softly. Harry backed off, dropping his book-bag on the floor and leaning on the desk, eying the small professor with interest.

Professor Flitwick closed his eyes, tilted back his head, and held out his hands. At the same time he squared his shoulders as if preparing for something. White mist swirled around him, evolving into a pure white light that stole every single colour in the room, bleaching it. Just when Harry thought he would go blind, the light dimmed slightly. Then the small figure in the middle of the room slumped down with a sigh, and Harry almost shouted out. Power had run through him, raw power, and as if on que, everything that wasn't fastened to the ground levitated a few feet into the air. Harry clutched the rim of the desk protectively. He felt as if his heart was being wrenched out, as if a hand had it, pulling slowly. And then the tension in the room snapped back as if it was a rubber band, having been pulled to its greatest extent and then let go. Everything that had been floating crashed to the ground, and Harry took three large, grateful gulps of air. Professor Flitwick limped up to him, his hair completely haywire, smiling ruefully.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Harry. I should have warned you--you'll experience extreme pain when you come in contact with a Shield," he said, his voice hoarse. "Of course, it's a tricky spell, oh yes, tricky, but very powerful," he added. "But it does take a lot of energy to maintain--I think the record for a Shield is three days and sixteen hours, but the man who did that died shortly afterwards. Lost too much magic, poor soul."

Harry wrinkled his nose, and then rubbed his chest where the pain had been. Professor Flitwick was powerful--everyone knew that--and it was well known he had millions of Charms hidden up his sleeves, and that was all very well, but what if he, Harry, could not cope? Professor Flitwick saw the disturbance behind his eyes, and beamed up at him.

"I bet you're wondering if you can cope!" he said, smiling. Harry looked at him, hesitated, and then nodded. Professor Flitwick manually climbed up until he was standing on top of the desk once more, and then smiled at Harry.

"Consider this, Harry: if any wizard other than yourself went through the things you've gone through, they'd be dead by now. What you've survived and mastered is evidence enough to show you that you can manage. After all, it's not every thirteen-year-old who masters a Patronus spell, now, is it?" he said kindly. Harry thought about this for a moment, digesting the professor's words, and then he smiled, nodded his head at the tiny man, and then took out his wand.

"What do I have to do?"

~*~

Luna sat on her bed, writing furiously in her diary. Everyone else was asleep, and she'd had to charm the curtains around her bed so that they wouldn't betray any light or sound. Her gray eyes raced across the page, following the every movement that her quill made. Flicking her hair out of her face, she put her quill down, and studied the page. Her brows furrowed, and she leaned closer to the page.

"Strange," she whispered, tracing her fingers along the textured paper. "We will have to see what becomes of this..."

~*~

"...there has been no sign of the dream mage?..."

"...none...perhaps she has forgotten?..."

"...she will not forget...when has any dream mage ever forgotten?..."

"...I have never known it, Cavan..."

"...neither have I, Adlai...but she must be controlled...her Dreams could bring our destruction nearer than we ever thought..."

"...the boy did not believe us...when we said we needed masters...he has no will to contact us..."

"...he is a man...not a boy...no other has ever resisted our Call...his loss of innocence makes him stronger and also weaker...but he will come...we must...motivate him..."

"...how?..."

"...I know of a man...a man whose sole goal is to destroy him...he will have sent out orders to find a weakness..."

"...that will not help us, Cavan..."

"...it would only be useless if we did not find out..."

"...ah..."

"...come now...we have work!..."

Harry groaned, and repeatedly thumped his head using a rather large, hard book. Can't those stupid voices go away?! he thought desperately. At the moment he was practising the Shield that Professor Flitwick had taught him, but he could not concentrate properly with 'Adlai' and 'Cavan' going off inside his head, predicting death and destruction and going on and on about 'him'. It was enough to drive anyone insane.

"Ron!"

The voice drifted up towards him from down in the common room. It was Hermione's. Getting up off the bed, he padded towards the door and opened it up a crack, just enough to hear what was going on.

"What? Why the hell are you always on my back? I've done nothing wrong!"

"Oh, really, Ron! You tell me you've done your work and then I find you sneaking around in my stuff! How low can you get?"

"Hermione, let me just--"

"No! I'm fed up with you! You're always making up excuses! No! Not any longer, do you hear me? Not any longer!"

"Herm--"

"No!"

There was the slamming of a door, and then the thud of someone sitting heavily down on one of the comfy couches by the fire. Harry closed the door again, and then sat back down on his bed, shaking his head. When would they learn?

~*~

Ron sat up in the Common Room, playing chess against himself, and occasionally looking at the pile of Hermione's books that lay beside her bag. All this trouble, just for a birthday present. She'd caught him stashing it away in her bag, got annoyed at him, shouted at him, would not listen to him, and stalked away, slamming the portrait hole shut behind her. Rubbing his temple, he stared at the board. Always a fan of the black chess pieces better than the white ones, he moved the white king out into an extremely vulnerable position, and prepared for his massacre. Just like my own massacre, he thought. Just as he was about to command at least six pieces to advance on the white king, however, his turn was ruined by Harry plopping himself down in front of him, looking serious.

"Hello Ron," he said. Ron didn't look up at him.

"You heard."

"I heard."

"Why does she do this?" Ron said suddenly, angrily sending the chessboard flying across the room. "Why?"

"Ron, she's just...Hermione. You know she gets annoyed at the tiniest thing," Harry said. Ron put his face in his hands.

"Oh...but Harry...why? What have I done?" he said helplessly.

"From the sounds of it, you were snooping around in her bag."

"That was because I was putting her birthday present inside!"

"How was she supposed to know that?"

"She never listens! That's why she never knows anything other than what she reads in books--she never listens!"

"Everyone has faults, Ron," Harry said softly. Ron looked at him angrily.

"Well, evidently, you don't, do you? I mean, everything is always about you!"

Harry stood up, his temper once again awakened.

"How is it always about me? How?!" he said, his voice rising.

"You're the one Dumbledore favours, you are always in the news, you're everywhere!" Ron shouted.

"Yeah, well, feel free to trade, and we'll see if you can cope any better!"

"I probably could!"

"What--you'd cope better, knowing that you're probably going to die soon? Because if you can cope better, then feel free to become me!" Harry snapped, not actually meaning to say what had just escaped his lips, but finding a sort of angry satisfaction at seeing Ron's anger disappear to be replaced by guilt.

"Harry, you know I didn't mean that," he said gently, not meeting his eyes. Harry sat down, and looked at his best friend.

"I know you're scared," Harry said. Ron sat down opposite him, and smiled sadly.

"Let's not fight," he said. There was a moment of silence that followed Ron's statement, and then he cleared his throat again.

"How do you cope?" he asked, his voice low. Harry was busy studying his hands, so at first Ron thought he was ignoring him, but then Harry chuckled.

"I don't know how I cope. It's scary," he said.

"Scary?"

"Don't tell me you never knew I got scared."

"Well..."

Ron could not imagine Harry being scared. He could imagine himself in the same situation, crying his head off, terrified, but he could not imagine Harry cowering in a corner, afraid. Of course, now he realised that this was a stupid presumption. Harry was still Harry, was still human. Nothing would change that.

"Sorry," he muttered lamely, trying to apologise for ever thinking about it.

"Oh, don't worry. Your sister thought the exact same thing. I bet everyone in this school thinks that I don't get scared," Harry said, shrugging. "I suppose it comes with the territory."

Ron looked around, and sighed, deciding to switch topic.

"So, uh...How're things?...With Ginny, I mean?" he said. Harry smiled slightly, remembering the feeling of Ginny's lips up against his own...

"Oh! A blush! I see a blush!" Ron exclaimed, and Harry was immediately snapped out of his trance.

"What?" he asked innocently. Ron jumped up and pointed at him, grinning like a madman.

"Oh, come on, Harry! What happened? Go on, tell me!"

Harry blushed even harder, and looked away, still smiling.

"Um, we...well, rather she...kissed me," he said softly. Ron let out a whoop of laughter.

"You're kidding me!"

"No, I'm not."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What have you done in return?" Ron demanded. Harry frowned, and Ron's face fell.

"You have to shape up, you know that. After all, it's common courtesy to return a kiss!" he said, as if this was obvious.

"Oh, you're telling me to get into shape?" Harry asked, grinning. "You, when you're the one who's terrified of even talking to Hermione?"

Ron's smiled flickered, and immediately Harry shut up.

"Sorry," he said, and Ron shrugged.

"D'you...d'you think she'll forgive me?"

"Yeah, she will. After all, you weren't rooting around in her stuff. You were giving her a birthday present. There's no wrong in that," Harry said. Ron looked at him, grinned, and pulled him into a wonky one-armed hug.

"See, if I didn't have you around to give me dating advice, I'd be hopeless," he joked. Harry laughed, and looked over to where the chessboard lay, its pieces scattered all around it.

"Anyone for chess?" he said. Ron grinned, and began to gather it up.

"Just so you're warned, Harry--I'll kick your ass!"

~*~

Oh, damn. I'm running out of tissues.

This was the first thought that crossed Hermione's mind as she looked at the empty tissue box. Every single tissue that had been lovingly folded now lay scrunched up either in her hand or beside her. Her cheeks were wet, and her nose was rather large and red from all the frequent blowing she's made in the past 30 minutes. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she sighed, and began to gather all her litter up. She'd made refuge in an empty classroom--well, it hadn't started out as empty, but she'd changed that (after all, she was the Head Girl)--had Summoned a box of tissues, and had started to cry her eyes out. After all, it was all Ron's fault! Had he not been such a bastard and begun looking in her bag...and she thought he could sink no lower...

A fresh bout of tears began to threaten as she delved back into the subject. Of course, she'd caught him snooping around in her bag countless times before--she'd always assumed that he was just jealous. Recently she'd been receiving beautiful love letters, all signed by an anonymous person, of course, and Ron just couldn't handle it. For example, the letters always seemed to appear at the same time that he decided to look in her bag--it had to be a Gryffindor! It also meant that Ron was being a sore looser--it was his fault he'd not made a move earlier on, because, of course, he'd failed to notice she was a girl in the past, and that other boys might be interested in her. He was just short-sighted in that category. And completely stubborn. And occasionally a tad insane. And temperamental. And so totally cute...

Hermione shook herself forcefully. She was being courted by another guy, and she should not go getting another crush on Ron when her mysterious man was so close to revealing himself. Yes. Ron is a no-go. Mr. Mysterious is who I want to be with, she told herself sternly.

"Hermione?"

Looking up so suddenly that the muscles in her neck seized up, Hermione looked at the door. Ginny was standing there, holding the door so it was silent.

"Oh, god, Hermione! Are you ok?" she said, hurrying over. Hermione took one look at Ginny, and then burst into tears.

"No," she sobbed, gathering Ginny into a strangling hug.

"Oh, dear, what's wrong?"

"It's that god-forsaken brother of yours!"

"What did Ron do this time? Honestly, he can be such a bastard at times!" Ginny said. Hermione laughed.

"He's been looking around in my bag for the past few days, and I know it's either because he's cheating or because he's jealous. I mean, I've been getting these love letters from someone, and he must've found out about it because he seems intent on getting to them before I do!" Hermione said. Ginny shook her head.

"Are they nice love letters?"

Hermione smiled and blushed.

"Oh, they're beautiful," she whispered. Ginny laughed.

"But what if whoever's writing them turns out to be someone like Neville or Seamus?"

"Does it matter? I'd gladly spend my entire life with either of them if the could write things like that!"

"Do you have a letter with you?"

"D'you want to see them? I have every single one here with me. I always keep them in my pocket," she said, digging into her robes and handing to Ginny a bundle of letters, bound tightly together with a long, blood-red ribbon.

"I always get a ribbon with the letters," she sighed. Ginny carefully undid the ribbon and began to read the first one. She held a hand to her mouth, and sighed too.

"Oh, that's so beautiful! 'A day without you is like a day in the depths of winter...' '...my heart swells at every sight, every glimpse of you...'," she said, biting her lip. "Are they all like this?"

"Every single one of them."

Ginny continued to read the letters, sighing here and there and smiling often. Once she'd read all of them she put them into order, carefully did the ribbon up again, and handed it back to Hermione. She rubbed her arms, and looked at the bushy-haired girl.

"If Harry could write like that--and if he was interested in me like that--I'd marry him in an instant," she said, giggling.

"What do you mean? Surely--?"

"Well, I kissed him the other day, but he hasn't done anything since then. He hasn't talked to me, he hasn't looked at me--well, he smiled at me the other day, but then he walked off...I don't know, Hermione. I really don't know. He's hard to read, he's hard to understand...everything about him is hard, from the timing to the circumstances. I don't know, really..."

"Oh, don't give up! He'll come around eventually, really!" Hermione said, trying to give the younger girl hope. Ginny pulled her robes tighter around her, as if she was cold.

"What if he dies?"

The question hang in the air like fog, smothering the answer. There was no answer. No one knew who had the greater chance of surviving, those who actually knew of the prophecy, and everyone else just assumed that somehow, Voldemort would disappear, and everyone would be left to live normal lives again.

"Ginny..."

"I know, there's no answer to that, but it makes me cold, just thinking about it. What if I don't get the chance to say goodbye? What if I don't have time to tell him everything? How I feel about him? What if...what if, if it's over and he's lost...what if we never find him?"

"Ginny, don't talk like that, please."

"I just feel so helpless."

"We all do," Hermione said, hugging Ginny. "We all do."

The pair of them were silent for a while, and then Ginny chuckled.

"You know what? You need help with Ron," she said.

"Help?"

"Yeah, the both of you being so useless and lazy," Ginny said.

"But...what about the letters?"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. They're only letters! Not even the most romantic letter can win someone's heart, not if they're already in love!" she said, standing up.

"But--Ginny! Ron and I are just not meant to be! We fight, we argue, we complain--how does that work?"

"Only because you two haven't admitted you like each other face-to-face!" Ginny said, starting off towards the door.

"Hey, Ginny! Wait! You are not rummaging around in my love life!"

"Who ever said I would rummage around in yours? I'm rummaging around in Ron's!" Ginny said, laughing. Hermione leapt up and began to follow the younger girl.

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry, Hermione. I'll explain everything as we go. It'll be, shall we say, a deal of sorts!"

~*~

Draco sat in one of the large leather chairs in the common room of the Slytherin dormitories. He was staring into the fire, ignoring everyone around him. He shouldn't have been bothered about it, but it was nagging at the back of his mind. Luna had told him to watch his step, and a few minutes later, he'd tripped. Did that mean anything? Did it betray some sort of hidden gift no one knew about?

Kneading his forehead with his knuckles, Draco sighed. Should he tell his father, his mother? Should he tell the Dark Lord?

Oh, yes, the Dark Lord would undoubtedly be very pleased with your information, Draco, he thought sarcastically. 'Ah...so you decided to tell me this...because you were spooked? Very very interesting, Draco...but, do you know what I do to Death Eaters who...displease me?'

Draco could just imagine Lord Voldemort saying that with an ugly smile on his face as the prospect of torturing someone knew came about. Draco, however, was intent on not becoming one of the Dark Lord's enemies, and had to consider every piece of information he received seriously. One wrong turn and a whole lot of pain would be coming first-class his way. Sighing, he amused himself by throwing bits of wood into the fire, making it spark and frighten off anyone who was sitting in the other chairs.

Another thought that was relatively high on his priorities list was Harry Potter. He was well-masked, but even the Boy Who Lived had to let his vulnerable side show once in a while, and Draco thought he'd almost seen it. The Looks. The small, affectionate smile he'd sent off towards Ginny. The winks Draco saw whenever Harry and Ron were planning trouble. The apologetic hugs Hermione gave him whenever she'd suspected him of something and her accusations had turned out to be false. All of these things Draco had seen from a distance. He'd lived in them ever since he'd started Hogwarts, and he'd kept track of them. In his younger years Harry had been more like the mask he now wore, but what with the Dark Lord's return and all he'd been through, Harry had created an entirely new face for himself, one that disguised him almost flawlessly. But Draco, being an observant and distant wizard, like every Malfoy should be, could see the fine lines that separated Harry's self from his mask. Fine little details that the masked Harry did, and that the unmasked did not. For example, the masked Harry smiled easily, laughed hard, and seemed blissfully ignorant. The Harry underneath, however, smiled only when someone had earned it, laughed softly, and took in almost everything around him. It seemed that Harry's friends did not notice any difference, and no one else in the school was aware of it either. Probably only Draco, and Harry himself, knew what was going on. Oh, and of course Dumbledore, but then again Dumbledore could always tell.

"You were gone last night."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Fuck off, Pansy," he said. Pansy came around the back of the chair, sitting in front of him and playing with his hair.

"Well, you aren't very nice, Draco. Every night since school started we've been together, and now suddenly you're brushing me off? I don't think so!" she said, her girly voice high and pitched. Twirling a lock of silk-fine blonde hair around her finger, she smiled at him, and then wrenched her arm away, Draco's lock of hair still clutched in her hand. Draco ignored her. Yes, his hair being pulled out had hurt, but Pansy had a tendency to do that, and he'd long since figured out how to ignore pain.

"Do you want me to do that again, Draco?" she said sweetly, digging her fingers into his hair. He grabbed her chin, and forcefully tilted her chin so she was looking at him.

"Pansy, temper tantrums are bad," he whispered chidingly, tightening his grip so that she was the one in pain. "And if you ever rip my hair out again, I'll put you through the most agony you've ever gone through. Do you understand me?"

Nodding once, Pansy fixed him with a glare to match a basilisk's. He smiled, released her, and then motioned for her to leave.

"Get out of my sight, Pansy," he said, returning his gaze to the fire. "And you'd better not be there tonight."

With one last foul look, Pansy left his presence, making her way to her dormitory, and he sighed. At last, some peace and quiet.

~*~

Pansy contemptuously kicked open her door, and sat down on her bed. Taking out a make-up kit, she began to beautify herself. No one argued with a Malfoy, not even one that was still in school. And Draco was every bit the man his father was. Ruthless, cunning, and very handsome, Draco was regarded by many of the pure-blooded families as the perfect Slytherin. In every household that expected their children to become Slytherins, conversations always went like so:

Child: "What do you have to be like to get into Slytherin?"

Mother/Father/Guardian: "Well, you have to be exactly like Draco Malfoy!"

Child: "What's Draco Malfoy like?"

M/F/G: "He's ruthless, cunning, sly--everything a Slytherin must be in order to be the best!"

Pansy had been told all this and more year after year: "Oh, Pansy! Don't forget to be a good Slytherin like that Draco Malfoy!" "Look up to Draco Malfoy--he's the best Slytherin since Slytherin himself!"

Throwing her kit across the room, she folded her legs, and just sat there, as still as a rock. Draco could be, and chose most often to be, a complete and utter bastard. He, just like his father, enjoyed seeing others in pain, especially if he was the one causing the pain. He also liked screwing up everyone's life except his own--any inconvenience whatsoever in his life was a big no-no; everyone always tried to make the Malfoy's life the easiest and would not go against their wishes or commands. The Malfoys had a nasty habit of threatening people to get their way.

The Malfoys, of course, were very-well integrated in the Ministry of magic, all thanks to some gracious donations the Malfoys would steal back anyway, and a few well-slipped galleons here and there. They were constantly (well, not so much anymore, seeing as Lucius Malfoy had been caught red-handedly as a Death Eater) bribing and blackmailing people to make their own personal ambitions come true. Draco, for example, had been going to extensive fencing lessons ever since he was a toddler. The result now, of course, was that he was probably the best wizard fencer in the entire world. Lucius, having promised Draco a pair of expensive new swords, did not pay for a thing. Instead, he stole some from the Department of Mysteries, a pair that had some unknown power. He was openly putting his son at risk, but he had achieved a personal goal: to steal something openly from the Department of Mysteries, the most un-touchable and secretive place that ever existed, besides a fair few dungeons at Hogwarts and every single one of the vaults down at Gringotts. Of course, to get the swords out of the Ministry of Magic, he bribed the doorman, and proved to everyone he told this story to that the Ministry of Magic's security is laughable.

Slipping off her shoes, Pansy crawled under the covers, not even bothering to take off her clothes. Sometimes being a Slytherin was more like fighting a war than anything else. With one last look at the makeup kit that was strewn across the floor, she sighed, turned over, and blew out the candle that lay beside her bed, enveloping the room in complete and utter darkness, save for the cracks of light that escaped through the door. Finally, true peace and quiet!