Harry crept out of the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room under the cloak, under the cloak of darkness- and his literal Invisibility Cloak. He held the Marauder's Map close to his chest and began to walk down the hallway after his target. He only chanced the use of his wand every few minutes, and only as a light to be sure he was still on the right path. His sock covered feet made little noise on the ground; something he realised after the third attempt to do this. This time would be successful.
He would find out what Draco Malfoy was up to, and stop it if he must.
Harry suspected that with Malfoy, such action would always be necessary. Whatever Malfoy was up to was somehow connected to Voldemort. Harry was sure of it.
The floor was cold- so cold that Harry could feel it through his socks. Though, he supposed that wasn't much of an accomplishment since his socks were old and threadbare. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and glanced down at the map. Malfoy was walking on the seventh floor, so to the seventh floor Harry must descend. He walked quickly enough to feel his cloak shifting, but not fast enough to disturb it in truth, or to make a sound.
The staircase refused to cooperate and moved too quickly for Harry to get on. He huffed and looked at the map anxiously. Malfoy had disappeared from the map. Again.
Harry kicked at the stairs in frustration and turned back towards Gryffindor Tower. Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.
Harry woke late the next morning. He hadn't slept long, nor had he slept well. Malfoy was constantly on his mind, and had been since the Triwizard tournament- if Harry was being honest. He most certainly wasn't; however; and would tell anyone daring enough to ask that he was not in any way obsessed with Draco Malfoy, but rather had a healthy suspicion of a clearly suspicious acting classmate. He'd done his best in the hectic year following the worst decision the board of governors had made yet- and these were people who approved Lockhart to teach, mind you- in the history of terrible decisions. Dealing with being categorically shunned and constant detentions with Umbridge hadn't given him much time to ponder. But now Malfoy was Obviously Evil, and it was up to Harry, as always, to stop him.
He ran a hand through his hair and winced as his thumb got caught in a knot. He'd been too focused on beating Malfoy to breakfast lately (in order to observe him for suspicious behavior, of course) that he had a significantly better chance of telling you how Malfoy took his tea (two sugars and a significant amount of milk) than when he had last brushed his hair. He sighed. He supposed today he would agree to attend one of Slughorn's parties. If nothing else, surely Malfoy would be there.
And as Harry wasn't one for honesty, he didn't think that was at all the reason he had decided to go.
Running his fingers through his hair again and trying not to rip anything important out, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall. He had just enough time to make it to lunch a few minutes before the others. He stood outside of the closed doors and blinked.
Or, more accurately, about twenty minutes. But no chances could be taken.
He cursed himself for the information he'd lost. Malfoy hadn't done anything, yet. But he would. Harry knew that he would, and that the best time for him to do so would be when Harry's eyes were elsewhere.
He strived to be elsewhere as little as possible.
"Harry, there you are! We thought you'd sleep forever," Hermione said.
Harry smiled at her, his eyes on the clock just visible behind her.
"Long night," he said.
"Doing what? What kind of long night could you possibly be having?" Ron asked.
Behind him the door opened as Flitwick walked in.
"Er, I meant...rough night. Listen, I'll see you at lunch. I've got to go," Harry said.
He nudged around Hermione as gently as possible before rushing into the Great Hall. There was still about fifteen minutes until lunch, but Harry refused to miss a second of Malfoy's activity.
