In the precious few weeks before school started once more, Harry, Ron, and Hermione whittled their days away at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Although he had originally thought that living within the residence of the Order of the Phoenix would have been interesting and exciting, Harry found that, other than the more-adventurous cleaning tasks, life was rather static. As the three soon-to-be fifth years were not allowed within the secretive meetings, it was rather as though the Black Manor was just another house, for all that Harry, Ron, and Hermione heard of it.

However, one evening, as the other Weasleys and assorted members of the Order of the Phoenix joined Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the table for dinner, Arthur started what originally seemed normal conversation. He had been prompted by his wife, Molly, when she asked what news had from his job at the Ministry.

"Well," he said, sighing as he served himself a second helping of food, "Fudge just informed us today that he's hired a new supervisor for finances. I expect my department will receive a few more cuts of funds." There were a few glances of worry exchanged throughout the table, mainly from those within the Weasley family.

"But," Hermione responded sensibly, "you can't assume that they'll do that, can you?"

"In this case, Hermione," Lupin responded, "I think you can." Arthur nodded.

"It's Philip Reeds," Arthur told Hermione, and the others at the table who hadn't already heard. "He's a friend of Lucius Malfoy, and they're definitely of the same mind set. Both Pureblooded families, and both with more money than they need."

"It may interest you to know, Hermione," interjected Kingsley Shaklebolt, who worked at the Ministry as well, "that he has a daughter your age. She'll be joining you at school sometime this year."

"I expect she'll be buddies with Pansy," muttered Ron into Harry's ear, and they both grimaced, sharing the dislike of the idea of another girl as obnoxious and loud. Hermione, however, was silent.

"I know I've heard that name somewhere," she muttered.

"You may have," Charlie said from the other end of the table. "She was at Hogwarts last year, with her classmates from Beauxbaton."

"Now I remember," Hermione replied. After a question glance from Harry, she continued. "She sat next to Professor Snape at the Yule Ball. I remember overhearing him introduce her to Malfoy."

"You remember everything!" scoffed Ron quietly. Hermione gave him a disapproving glare and would have certainly launched into another tirade on how he never listened if Harry hadn't interrupted, "Did he seem interested?"

"Who?" asked Hermione.

"Malfoy," replied Harry. At this Hermione shrugged.

"Why would you care?" asked Ron. Hermione, however, had a scheming look in her eye.

"What were you thinking?" she asked Harry.

---

The Malfoy Manor was one that you could get lost in. Each room led to a stuffy corridor, an architect's dream, an interior designer's paradise. The furniture was expensive and of a late medieval period, with ornately carved chairs and chests with gilded locks. While many children would enjoy to spend their summers at this estate, Draco Malfoy just found it boring.

Having lived at the manor for over fifteen years now, he found it dull. The largeness of the house was, at first, wonderful. As a young boy he had loved the way that he could run off for hours on end and his nanny couldn't find him. Now, he found that it was too easy to become separated from his parents. His mother, Narcissa, spent her hours drifting aimlessly on the second floor. His father, Lucius, preferred the downstairs. More often than not, Draco could find him in a study on the ground floor, an expensive Cuban cigar in one hand and a cue for billiards in the other. In those summer weeks, Draco had spent the hours silently, perfecting his skill at opening the wooden doors without causing their hinges to creak. The dinner hours were the only ones they spent together. It was the same: always at the long table in the dining room. The only drinks served were wine, a thick, dark elfish wine that made Draco uncomfortable. The adults sipped it nonchalantly, but Draco found that the exquisite taste grew dull from overuse.

While other children, when bored, could turn on a television or use such other muggle devices, there was not a plug in the Malfoy Manor, or even electricity. At night, light came from smokeless torches that lit whenever anyone walked past, and amusement had to be sought out in more creative forms that a flipping of a switch, pressing of a button, or clicking of a mouse.

A clock chimed five o'clock, but Draco didn't move. Dinner was always early, but he didn't feel much like going downstairs quite yet, and was certainly in no hurry for another long, dull conversation. His black cloak was strewn across his bed. He sat at his desk, staring emptily out the tall window. Its curtains were thick, dark, red velvet. Below, on the first floor, a bell chimed. Draco heard it, and sighed. He got up, deliberately slowly, and walked over to the mirror. Like all things in his house, it was old. The edges were dull with too many cleanings, but the gilded frame still bore precious stones that glittered in the torchlight. He began to put on his tie, a black silk one, finely made and extremely expensive. While others would enjoy the smoothness of the silk, it was all trite to Draco. His hands were swift and sure as he knotted the tie, placed the collar of his white shirt over it, and surveyed his reflection. His eyes, steely gray and intense, stared back at him. He even looked bored. He parted his hair, thought about it a moment, and brushed it with his fingers so that it brushed his eyes. He liked the way it looked, liked the way his eyes glittered beneath his shiny blonde hair. It was a waterfall of golden light, the tips brushing his eyelashes. He buttoned his sleeves, straightened his tie, and went down to dinner.

---

"Would that work?" asked Ron dubiously. Kingsley and Lupin exchanged a glance. At one end of the table, Molly looked uncomfortable.

"Something wrong?" asked Mr. Weasley at her fidgeting. She smiled sort of forcedly, as though admitting to a lie.

"It doesn't seem right, is all," she replied. More glances, more silent exchanges.

"He's only a boy," she continued, her voice rising in pitch. Sirius was grinning at one end.

"I remember when I was his age," he told Mrs. Weasley. "I wasn't that innocent. I think it's perfectly acceptable."

"I mean," Harry began, only to be interrupted by Mrs. Weasley.

"That's enough," she said firmly. "Off to bed. And no more talk of this."

At her scolding, Harry looked at Lupin. The plan had sounded good; even Hermione had agreed, and she was more cautious than Harry and Ron put together. However, looking at this previous Dark Art's teacher, Harry was surprised to see him nod. He turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody, who winked and nodded to the door. This indication of him leaving, while confusing, presented an enigma that he was sure Hermione could figure out.

Ron wasn't as willing to leave, but at Harry and Hermione's solidity, he grabbed a last cookie and followed them out. Ginny followed.

As soon as the door was closed, Hermione turned to Harry.

"I–" began Harry, but Hermione quickly shushed him. The four of them ran up the stairs as quickly as they could, and once at the landing, Hermione removed a cleverly-concealed Extendable Ear from her pocket.

". . .and I will not have it!" Mrs. Weasley was saying.

"Molly, understand, if it could help the Order. . ." Arthur was trying to wheedle.

"You see," Hermione told Harry, "the others agree. They're going to try and convince her."

"Good luck," Ron muttered. "My mum doesn't often change her mind."

". . .only the age of my Ron!" Mrs. Weasley continued, and those inside the room could see in her fiery glare a soft touch of love that only a mother could have. The dynamic around the table was intense; it was as though the air was thick with silence, all that those seated around the table weren't saying. They were carefully going to convince the one person who opposed their brilliant plan.

---

The table at the Malfoy Manor stretched across ten twelve-foot high windows. The heavy emerald curtains were thick with dust and their thick golden tassels hung limp in the stagnant air. And the room was heavy with silence. Draco served himself another spoonful of soup, before his mother levitated it away from him. He delicately sipped the hot liquid, his silence not out of politeness but rather fear of breaking the fragile quiet. His father dropped his spoon with a loud clatter, forcing Draco to avert his attention from his soup to Lucius.

"I saw Philip today at the office," he told his wife. His tone was surprisingly quiet, as though he was accustomed to sitting at such a long table, accustomed to the tall, dusty hall, accustomed to the emptiness of the high ceiling and nineteen empty chairs.

Looking at his mother seated to the head of the table to his right, Draco caught her carefully uninterested glance to his father.

"And how are the Reeds?" she inquired, her melodic voice patient and soft.

"Well," replied Lucius. Draco returned his eyes to his soup, which was now getting cold. Just like his father to not say what he meant, especially with him around.

"Draco, didn't you say you met his daughter, Marie?" asked his mother, her deep blue eyes focused upon not her son but her soup. He glanced at her, before clearing his throat and responding in what he hoped was the uninterested tone that both his parents had perfected.

"Yes, she came from Beauxbaton for the Triwizard Tournament. Professor Snape introduced us at the Yule Ball." Draco glanced at his father, as if hoping that he had said the proper thing. He knew from their averted glances that he had said too much, told them more than they had asked. Speak when spoken to was a rule for him in his own house with his parents, as was telling them what they asked, a need-to-know basis that they were accustomed to when dealing with the Dark Arts.

"Marie Reeds is you age, isn't she?" It was Lucius who asked this, and it threw Draco off.

"Y-yes," he stammered, his eyes flicking from his mother, who refused to meet his gaze as though indifferent, to his father, who was now lifting his wineglass and watching the thick red liquid as the light filtered through it.

"Only fifteen," he mused to himself, as he took a sip.

---

"You can't say that!" cried Mrs. Weasley. "He's only fifteen!"

"When I was fifteen," Sirius said, "I was just as mature as I am today."

"That's saying something!" replied Mrs. Weasley hotly. There was a silence.

"Molly," Lupin began carefully, trying to placate her, "there would be no risk of harm coming to him. This is strictly informational. It wouldn't be dangerous at all."

Molly glanced around, looking for someone who agreed with her.

"Do you really all think we should do this?" she asked them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were seated in the boys' bedroom. Ron was finishing the large, chocolate-chip and walnut cookie he had taken from the table, as Hermione fidgeted.

"Will this really work?" asked Harry finally. It had been his idea, but seeing it so quickly thrown into action made him nervous. Suppose it didn't? Would he be blamed?

"I think it will," Hermione replied. "If Tonks is willing. . ."

"Of course I'll do it," Tonks told Mrs. Weasley. "Don't be silly. It'd be fun."

"Fun?" echoed Molly. "But if it works. . ."

". . .if it works," Hermione continued, "then the Order will have enough information. This could really work to our advantage. But if it doesn't. . ."

"If doesn't work? If you're caught?" Mrs. Weasley asked incredulously. Tonks shrugged, as though uncaring.

"What does it matter?" she replied. Mrs. Weasley sighed.

"How well do you know Mr. Reeds, Arthur?" she asked.

"Philip and I first met when I was in France." Lucius spoke as though to himself. "He's a fine man." There was a pause as the three of them ate their dinner.

"Marie is Pureblooded," added Narcissa, carefully cutting herself some filleted fish. She met Draco's eyes momentarily. "You liked her?" she asked, turning her attention once more to her food.

"Yes."

"That's nice." Narcissa poured herself some more wine and sipped it delicately. The effect of the crystal and the blood-red liquid was entrancing.

---

Ron looked mournfully at his empty hands and dusted off the last few crumbs.

"I want another cookie." The rich chocolate taste was thick in his mouth.

"Ron, this is serious!" chided Hermione.

"Suppose this could work," Mrs. Weasley allowed. Lupin smiled.

"Well, Molly," Mad-Eye said, "the possibilities would be. . ."

"Yes, excellent," agreed Mr. Malfoy, carefully buttering his slice of bread.

"I suppose you two will be very good friends," Narcissa added, pouring Draco another glassful of wine. His glance of distaste was ignored.

"So this is final?" Kingsley asked. "The timing will be very important."

". . .and we'll have to play along, of course," Hermione added.

"Sounds like fun." Ginny had joined them.

"She is rather pretty." Draco kept his voice carefully devoid of any emotion. Still, his mother looked up. I should have just kept quiet, he thought, forcing himself to take another sip of the thick red wine. But somehow he felt a warmth inside for having said something. Something that made him sound like he knew what was going on and wasn't as oblivious as they thought he was. He hated that tone of his mother's. Friends, indeed! He knew what they were planning for the two of them.

"It's a good plan," Charlie added.

"So it's settled?" asked Sirius eagerly. Molly glared at him

"What about Snape?" asked Mad-Eye.

"I hope they don't tell him," Ron muttered.

"It was kind of him to introduce you two. She will be in Slytherin, I'm sure." Blase, bland of any emotion. It was as though he wasn't human, without his eyes even looking at the son he spoke to.

"I suppose we won't."

"It'd be better that way," agreed Lupin. Sirius laughed.

"I'd love to see his face when he figures out. Snivellus, tricked, finally."

"I hope you make her comfortable, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy murmured.

"Yes, mother."

"And Malfoy. . ." Harry grinned at the edge to Ron's voice. Hermione looked down at her right hand, as though remembering the force it had inflicted.

". . .no one will have any idea of it coming!" Ginny was triumphant as she recounted the story to the twins.

"I can't believe Harry–" Tonks shook her head in wonder.

"I suppose some of us rubbed off on him, eh?" asked George of his twin.

Crookshanks padded silently into the bedroom and leapt onto Hermione's lap. She stroked him, while saying, "Do you think he'll ever know?"

"Of course not," Narcissa agreed with her husband. "I wouldn't worry about him." Standing silently at the door to the dining room, Draco was insulted to hear his father snort at his mother's confidence in him and felt an angry blush rise in his cheeks.

It was dizzying how fast everything was going.

Draco walked up the stairs slowly, dreading the quiet hours to come.

Number 12, Grimmauld Place was a flurry of movement downstairs. The adults had lit the lights and were comfortably seated. Mrs. Weasley, helpful for once, had conjured coffee from the kitchen and then enchanted the coffee pot to fill each member's mug.

"I suppose there's nothing more to do tonight," Harry agreed with Hermione reluctantly.

Absolutely nothing, thought Draco. I'll go bored out of my mind before school starts again. He cursed himself silently for his lack of creativity.

"What could we do?" asked Fred. Ginny shrugged.

"I suppose nothing," she replied. "But don't give us away."

"Wouldn't dream of it," grinned George.

"We are rather good, dear sister," began Fred.

" – at keeping secrets," finished George, winking.

Lucius drained the last drop of red wine from the crystal goblet.

"I suppose I'll go into the Ministry tomorrow," he told his wife. She flicked her wand; the table cleared. She didn't respond.

The flickering fire illuminated face after face. Sirius, his drawn face alight with childlike excitement, Tonks, her grin cunning and fox-like, Mad-Eye Moody, a unfamiliar smile making the corners of his lips turn upward, and Molly, for once content with the planning of the Order.

Draco turned off the light by his bed with a flick of his wand and rolled over onto his back. Staring up into the darkness, he wished that something, anything, would happen. What happened to the excitement of being a wizard? If only he could play Quiddich. . .the pillow was too hard, the silken sheets too suffocating. . .if only he could fall asleep. . .

Harry and Ron, lying in their separate beds, sighed and fell asleep with identical smiles on their face. A day well spent.

Lucius walked into his bedroom, holding the cigar expertly in his left hand, and looked over at the sleeping form of his wife and sighed. By habit, he rubbed the inside of his left arm guiltily, winced, and went to get washed up.

Draco was still staring up at the dark canopy of his bed when sleep finally claimed his thoughts and his grey eyes that had glinted in the dark like stars finally closed as his mind, which had been whirring with feelings of inadequacy and helplessness, found peace in a dreamless sleep.