Chapter two is up and ready. I apologize for the length. I had thought perhaps I should split it into two chapters, but I really want the flashback to be done within the first three chapters of this story. The whole "trilogy" thing, I guess. I really hope the editing isn't too ghastly. I wrote most of this in the very early morning hours and my eyes are playing some pretty wild tricks on me. I think it's like 2am now that I'm posting it. Have you ever stared at something you've written and suddenly the words seem less like words and more like little miniatures of scenes from within the story you're writing? I really need to get some sleep.

At any rate, here are some events of Killian's sixth year (Hermione's fifth year, for those who are keeping track) ...

I would also like to wish a belated Happy Birthday to a fellow dreamer out there. Enjoy ...

- Chapter Two -

The Reluctant Slytherin - Part II

- Year Six -

Stars flashed in his eyes, a tinny taste rising in his mouth, the salt of his own blood on his tongue. He expected retaliation for the altercation in the courtyard, but had not anticipated it in the common room and certainly not by way of fist.

The punch caught Killian off guard and there was little he could do to fight the swimming sensation in his head as he felt two sets of hands grab him by the arms, pulling him upright.

"On your feet, Finn," Pucey spat as Killian's vision blurred in and out of focus. "Time to pay the piper!"

With that, Pucey buried his fist in Killian's gut, causing him to double over with so much force that he fell free from the restraining arms of Montague and Nott. Gasping for breath, Killian could hear a growing volume of murmurs all around him, assuming other members of the House were beginning to fill the common room with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"Grab his wand!" Pucey ordered as Baddock retrieved Killian's wand from where it fell after Pucey's blindside attack. "Mobilicorpus!" Pucey commanded.

Killian was pulled several inches off the floor and, with a wave, was flung into the stone wall with explosive impact, his body slumping to the ground.

"What the hell are you doing?" Draco shouted at Pucey, pushing his way through the crowd of onlookers. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Stay out of this, Malfoy!" Pucey dismissed as he directed his wand on Killian once again. Before he could cast his strike, however, Draco knocked Pucey's wand away, his jinx bouncing harmlessly of the common room wall.

"Knock it off!" Draco warned in as firm a tone as he could muster.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy," Pucey barked.

"You can't threaten me!" Draco scoffed. "My father—"

"Piss on your father, whelp!" Pucey sneered as he blasted Draco across the room.

By that time, Killian had struggled to his feet, albeit with great difficulty. He saw Crabbe and Goyle rush to Draco, who lay limp in the corner. Then, as if a switch had turned within his very soul, he felt no pain, he felt no fear … He felt nothing but anger.

Killian's eyes focused, fire burning in his glare as he saw Pucey, laughing at his handiwork. His muscles began to tense, a devilish grin creeping across his face.

"Bit of a masochist, are you?" Pucey chortled with a sneer as he noticed Killian standing along the wall, defiant and defenseless. "Not to worry, I've got plenty more for you. Then, maybe we'll have a bit of fun with that little Mudblood of yours."

Something in Killian snapped as Pucey's words hit his ears. His anger turned to rage, pure and uncontrolled. As Pucey cast his jinx, he made his move.

"Accio wand!" Killian's wand leapt from Baddock's hand and into his own. He deflected Pucey's jinx and spun around on Nott. "Furnunculus!"

Nott flew back, his face becoming engorged in grotesque lumps, puss, and boils.

"What?" Pucey bumbled in confusion. "Impossible … How?"

But there were no answers to be found. As Pucey looked on in bewilderment, Montague and Baddock engaged in a viscous duel with Killian. It was not long before Baddock was removed from action, being repeatedly propelled face first into the granite mantle of the Slytherin hearth.

Three other students joined the duel in an attempt to subdue Killian, who was attacking with no regard for his own safety nor the safety of others around him. It was only seconds before those students were disposed of, wishing they had remained simple bystanders. By this point, however, Pucey regained control of his senses and joined Montague, the only one who seemed capable of parrying with Killian. In an effort to help, however, Pucey hit Montague square in the chest with an errant jinx. Seeing his opportunity, Killian acted swiftly.

"Incarcerous!"

Ropes appeared from the air, binding Montague. With a violent wave of his wand, Killian blasted the hulking seventh-year through the entrance to Slytherin House, leaving a sizable hole in the dark dungeon corridor wall.

Killian then turned his attention back towards Pucey, who was now retreating, his wand lowered in submission. No longer in control of his actions, Killian ignored the surrender. He was not sure what he cast, his emotions overwhelming his consciousness. All he saw was Pucey being lifted from the ground, blasted into the ceiling, the walls, the floor, and finally against the hearth, where Baddock's body lay motionless.

Now barely conscious, Pucey began grasping at his throat, choking, as Killian's curse stole the air from his lungs. He gasped and pleaded, but it fell upon deaf ears.

"Killian, stop!" Draco cried, regaining consciousness just in time to see Killian standing over the near lifeless body of Pucey.

Leaping to his feet, Draco threw himself at Killian, pulling him back and momentarily breaking the curse. Pucey heaved and buckled over at the first opportunity for air. Killian, seemingly unaware of Draco, fought free and went to reapply his curse as Draco desperately tried to restrain him.

"Expelliarmus!" came Snape's enraged voice from the gaping hole in the dungeon wall.

Killian's wand flew from his hand as he and Draco crashed into the floor. Killian suddenly became very aware of what had happened, of what he had done. He looked at Draco, who stared back with an expression of concern that was completely foreign on the face of a Malfoy.

. . .

Draco did his best to explain to Snape how Pucey, Montague, Baddock, and Nott had attacked Killian. The rest of the Slytherins' accounts essentially mirrored Draco's. Killian, however, remained silent, contemplating his fate. Acting in defense or not, no student would be justified in the actions he had taken.

After the interrogation, Killian found himself sitting alone in Professor Snape's office, awaiting, he could only assume, Professor Dumbledore's notification of his expulsion from Hogwarts. For years, Killian could not have cared less about such a fate. But that was before his encounter with his curious Gryffindor. Now, the thought of being without her ravaged his soul.

When Professor Snape returned, however, the silver-haired headmaster did not accompany him. Instead, the formal and familiar figure of Lucius Malfoy entered alongside Snape and Draco. Confused but relieved, Killian allowed a slight smile to wash over his face.

"Ah, Killian," Lucius greeted as he removed his gloves and folded them in his hand over the top of his serpentine cane. "It appears that you have had quite an eventful evening."

Draco smiled reassuringly at Killian. "Don't worry, it's all been handled."

"Handled?" Killian asked, grasping for reasoning. "I don't understand."

"When Draco sent word of your predicament," Lucius explained, "I, of course, got here as soon as I could. Seven on one? Very impressive."

"Seven on two, sir," Killian corrected, offering Draco credit, although technically he had not so much as drawn his wand. Still, it was clear that Draco appreciated being included.

"How delightfully modest of you," Lucius dismissed. "When I arrived, Professor Snape and I had a long discussion regarding what, exactly, would be the best approach in handling such a delicate situation. It is difficult to make such things disappear entirely. However, errant rumors of bickering within Slytherin House would clearly be less than advantageous to all involved. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

"Obviously," Snape drawled, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the room.

"So," Lucius went on, "we have come to the conclusion that the best way to remedy said circumstances is to have all students who witnessed the event sworn to secrecy by virtue of an Unbreakable Oath. Not as unforgiving as an Unbreakable Vow, of course, but painful enough consequences that one would not wish it upon themselves."

"Sir," Killian said, still at a loss for words. "I don't know what to say."

"Of course, because rumors can spread so rapidly within the school," Lucius explained further, "every member of the Slytherin House will also been sworn to secrecy on all events leading up to the attack in the common room, including the altercation in the courtyard this morning. Any and all attempts at retaliation against you or any others involved in tonight's misunderstandings will also be forbidden. Have I covered everything?" Lucius asked, turning to Snape in a mock request for guidance.

"You failed to pin a medal on him," Snape replied curtly.

"You're quite right," Lucius agreed with a pretentious smile. "Perhaps another time. Now, if you will please excuse me, I will just have a word with Professor Snape in private," he concluded to Killian as he and Snape headed off to a corner of the office and spoke in undertones.

With the adults busy, Killian was left to sit in shock at how the circumstances had turned around. He thought he had spent his last day at Hogwarts, and now it looked like everything was being efficiently and entirely brushed under the rug. He almost felt guilty, but not guilty enough to actually care.

"Told you everything would be fine," Draco said as he sat aside Killian and nudged him in the ribs. "See? No one can say anything about it unless they want their tongue to swell up to the size of a grapefruit. They can't even talk about what happened this morning. So you and your little Gryffindor can go about and do your thing … Whatever that is."

"Yes," Killian mused. "Whatever that is."

"It really sickens me, you know," Draco went on. "I mean, seriously? Hermione Granger? She's such an annoying little bookworm. She's like …"

"She's like perfection," Killian concluded, much to the contrary of Draco's point. "You just don't see it."

"Clearly," Draco conceded. "Whatever, though. It's your thing."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Killian agreed as he shook his head with a sigh, still trying to make sense of it all. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?" Draco asked.

"For trying to help me earlier," Killian said with as much sincerity as he could assemble. "For helping me now. I just … Well, just thanks, I guess."

"You didn't really think I would let you hang yourself, did you? If you got expelled, who would I talk to? Crabbe and Goyle?" Draco asked with another nudge to Killian's ribs, which were particularly sore at the moment. "Couple of rogue scholars there."

Professor Snape and Lucius came back towards Draco and Killian, finished with whatever last minute touches that needed to be discussed regarding the cover-up. Glancing around the office, Lucius adjusted his coat and checked his timepiece.

"Well, it appears as though things are in order here," he said, placing his timepiece in his coat pocket. "I shall inform your father you are doing well."

"Thank you, sir," Killian said humbly as he stood, bowing his head.

"No thanks are necessary. We do what we must," Lucius assured with a smile much warmer than the pompously proper one he presented earlier. "Draco … Walk me out, won't you?"

Draco and Lucius left Snape's office, leaving Killian alone with Professor Snape, awkwardly avoiding the Head of Slytherin House's glare. For several moments, there was nothing but silence until Snape finally approached Killian, observing the student who had just escaped expulsion.

"I will be sending word to your father, of course," he said, his eyes burning down upon Killian.

"Yes, Professor," Killian conceded, gritting his teeth, his eyes on the floor.

"You realize that you got off rather unscathed, do you not?" Snape asked rhetorically.

"Yes," Killian answered just the same.

"This is something that will not be discussed in the future," Snape went on.

"Yes, Professor," Killian nodded.

"However, before we lock these events into the recesses of our memories," Snape continued further, "you will answer me one question."

"Of course," Killian agreed.

"Tonight," Snape said, his eyes narrowing, "I witnessed you performing, with reckless control, extraordinarily dark magic. I would very much like to know where you learned it."

. . .

William? Killian thought as he crossed the courtyard towards Hogwarts. Well, who's Peter then?

As Killian rattled his mind, realizing that he really should try to get to know the names of everyone in his House, he failed to notice that there was another individual pacing the grounds in the vicinity.

"Ahem," came Professor Umbridge's sickeningly sweet voice.

Killian turned quickly and saw Umbridge emerge from the shadows. He was cautious to conceal his surprise, knowing that it would be quite disastrous if Umbridge were to discover that Hermione was still lurking about the courtyard.

"Mr. Finn," Umbridge addressed as she approached Killian with her plastic smile firmly in place. "Out a bit late this evening, aren't we?"

"Yes," Killian agreed as his mind raced for a plausible lie. "I was …" He bumbled slightly as he, once again, struggled to remember the first year's name. "William," he finally recalled. "William was feeling a bit off, so I escorted him outside to get some fresh air."

"Is that right?" Umbridge asked. "And where is William now?"

"The air failed to improve his condition," Killian explained, "so I sent him off to Madame Pomfrey."

"You sent him off alone?" Umbridge inquired further.

"I thought I saw someone down by the lake," Killian went on. "I wanted to be certain there weren't any students wandering about."

"How very responsible of you," Umbridge complimented, although Killian was not entirely sure of her sincerity. "And what did you discover?"

"Nothing," Killian answered simply. "The late night shadows must have been playing tricks on my eyes. I was actually on my way to Madame Pomfrey to ensure that William made it safely."

Umbridge gave a casual glance about the courtyard before returning her attention to Killian. Try as he may to predict what the vindictive watchdog of the Ministry was thinking, Killian found it a fruitless endeavor. Her perpetually warm expression, while not exactly Slytherin in its concealment of thoughts and mindset, was equally difficult to read.

"You are quite noble," she said at last.

"Thank you, Professor," Killian returned with a bow of his head.

"It is actually rather fortuitous that I came across you this evening," Umbridge went on. "I am looking to put together an organization of students who, like yourself, seem both interested and capable of maintaining order within the school. I believe you would make a fine addition."

"I appreciate the offer," Killian said with a smile. "But, with regret, I must decline. I've never been one for organizations ... Students or otherwise."

"I'm disappointed that you feel this way," Umbridge lamented with a sigh. "Still, I think we should discuss this further. I would like you to report to my office tomorrow after classes have concluded."

"Um … certainly," Killian agreed, slightly uncomfortable. "I will be there."

"Excellent," Umbridge beamed. "Now, back inside with you."

. . .

Umbridge smiled as Killian entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts master's office. "How good of you to come."

Killian did not respond. He was under the impression he had been instructed to be there, not that it was an invitation. However, Professor Umbridge had a tendency for niceties, even when they were merely for show.

"I was hoping that after some thought, you may have reconsidered my offer," Umbridge went on pleasantly.

"I am truly flattered by your invitation," Killian lied. "But I'm not certain that I fit into the mold."

"I disagree," Umbridge said. "It appears that you have a reputation for handling situations quite well."

Killian thought this interpretation of the rumors bounding around the school to be a bit odd. He imagined the consensus was that whatever had happened in the Slytherin House, it was handled anything but well.

"Are you certain you won't reconsider?" Umbridge asked again.

"Quite certain," Killian answered. "With respect, of course."

"Pity," Umbridge dismissed with a sigh as she twiddled a tea cozy. "Well, since you're here," she went on, "you may as well serve your detention."

"Detention?" Killian asked, surprised at the statement.

""While your intentions were noble," Umbridge explained, "you were out after hours."

"Are you serious?" Killian asked.

"I am always serious," Umbridge answered, the sickening sweetness in her tone replaced with a stern stiffness. "I think that some lines are in order. Have a seat."

Killian looked about the cat décor in the office as saw a writing desk near the wall. Sitting down, he saw a blank parchment that had been laid out.

"You will be needing this," Umbridge continued, handing Killian a quill with no ink.

A Blood Quill? Killian thought as he took the barbaric writing tool.

Killian was familiar with the device. His father had one on display in the family library until his mother finally insisted it be removed. Even if only for viewing, it was more than his mother could stomach to look upon such a device. Although Killian had never seen it in practice, he understood its purpose quite well.

"What shall I write?" he asked, forcing a believable grin to hide his anger and anxiety.

Umbridge seemed taken aback by Killian's approach to his detention. Pacing the floor in front of the writing desk, she simply observed him for a moment, clearly contemplating as they eyes locked in a match of wills.

"The Inquisitorial Squad is an honor and a privilege," she instructed sweetly.

"Inquisitorial Squad?" Killian asked curiously.

"The organization you will be joining," Professor Umbridge explained.

"Professor, I—"

"While it is not quite ready for implementation," Umbridge went on, cutting Killian off before he could protest, "I am certain when it is, you will make a fine and productive member."

"Regretfully, I do not share in you certainty," Killian said with as much politeness as he could muster given the circumstances.

"We shall see," Umbridge sang. "Begin …"

Killian simply smiled, glanced at the parchment, grasped the Blood Quill, and began to write.

"Very well."

He immediately felt the sting on the back of his hand as the blood-red letters of his lines etched themselves into his skin. Repressing any show of pain or emotion, he wrote endlessly, without pause as Professor Umbridge hovered over him, watching his every move as he scribed line after line.

After nearly an hour, the fiery burn on the back of Killian's hand gave way to numbness. Seeing that the effects were not meeting their ends, Umbridge instructed him to stop.

"Have we learned our lesson?" she asked as Killian placed the quill down upon the desk.

"I'm not entirely certain what lesson was being presented," Killian answered simply.

Professor Umbridge's smile dissolved away as Killian stood and adjusted his robes.

"Well," she said as her eyes narrowed upon Killian, "then I'm afraid you shall have to return tomorrow, and we will continue."

"Of course, Professor," Killian agreed with hint of defiance masked within his proper politeness.

The second day was as the first. As were the third and the fourth. Each time, the words carved deeper and deeper into Killian's flesh. Each time he began to accept, to embrace, to enjoy the pain as it surged through him. Each time, Umbridge asked the question. Each time, Killian refused. He would not relinquish his will to Umbridge. He would not serve her.

. . .

"Can I ask you something?"

"I'm sure you can ask me a great many things," Killian answered playfully.

He then felt Hermione's head lay upon his shoulder, heard her sigh as she contemplated her next thought. A sudden tinge of guilt arose within him, believing perhaps his teasing may have been out of place at the moment.

"Is this just an illusion?"

No, Killian thought. Never believe that … Never, ever believe that …

But the words did not reach his lips. He wanted, more than anything in the world, to answer in the manner his heart desired, but knew it was far more complicated than that.

In his entire life, Killian had felt alone. Never feeling as though he belonged in the world from where he came, nor truly belonging in the world he now resided within, Killian had grown accustomed to loneliness. He had accepted it, very nearly enjoyed it. Now, it was different. He longed for the company of his little Gryffindor, and felt as though a part of himself was missing when she was not around.

How he longed to tell her how he felt, how he longed to tell her everything. But he knew he could not. He had to keep a distance. His father's words, the words he had engrained in both his mind as well as the mind of his sister, echoed through his consciousness …

Remember your place … We are one of the twenty-eight. And as such, we have a responsibility …

Responsibility or not, he could deny how he felt. Just the sensation of her head on his shoulder made him feel like a different person, a better person, a person she deserved. Wanting for nothing more than for the moment to go on forever, he rested his head upon hers, interlacing their fingers as they sat together in their own secluded area away from the crowds of Hogsmeade.

"I don't know about any rabbits in a hat," he said at last, "but you are far more than any vanishing woman behind a curtain."

It was not what he wanted to say, but it seemed to be enough. He felt Hermione's grip tighten as she slid closer to him, ignoring the sting on the back of his hand. No pain could wash away the euphoria that had overtaken his senses. He was happy, he was at peace, he was home.

Sadly, as with all moments, this one came to pass. It was not long before they had to leave, their worlds becoming separate once again.

Immediately upon arriving at Hogwarts, Killian was greeted by Professor Umbridge, whom seemed almost too pleased to see him, approaching with her now customary delicate clearing of her throat.

"It appears you had a wonderful time in Hogsmeade, Mr. Finn," she said sweetly.

"Very much so, yes," Killian answered, aware of the smile he could not hide.

"Yes, indeed," Umbridge said. "Shirt untucked, coat askew … It also appears you have paid little attention the rules."

"What?" Killian asked, puzzled by the remark.

Looking down, he saw that his shirt had, in fact, come a slight bit untucked. When he exited the coach coming up from Hogsmeade, his shirt and coat had snagged the handle. He paid it little mind at the time, but could not disagree with Professor Umbridge's observation, however nitpicky it may have been.

"Right," he conceded, tucking in the corner of his shirt and straitening his coat.

"Appearances are very important, would you not agree?" Professor Umbridge continued.

"Of course," Killian agreed, wishing for nothing more than to be free of bitter old woman's company. "I will be sure to pay closer attention in the future."

"I believe you will," Umbridge said. "However, to be certain beyond doubt, I think it might be best you come to my office after class on Monday. Might I see your hand?"

"Wait, what?" Killian choked. "Detention? For my shirt?"

"Your hand, Mr. Finn," Umbridge reiterated.

Tempting defiance, but fearing just how far the repercussions might reach, Killian relented, removing his glove and presenting his hand.

"Turn it over," she instructed further.

Killian turned his hand, displaying the scars left by the Blood Quill; faded, but still present.

"It has healed rather nicely," Umbridge remarked, leaning in for a closer look. "Have you given any thought to my proposal?"

"None," Killian answered coldly.

It had been several weeks since he last sat in that office, scribing Umbridge's mantra. Killian had thought, perhaps, she had given up on the prospect of recruiting him for her potential band of brutes. Clearly, she was merely allowing him the opportunity to believe so.

"Well," Umbridge said with a sickening sweet smile, "then I shall see you Monday after class."

With that, Professor Umbridge turned abruptly and entered the castle, leaving Killian to stand in the cold, festering in his frustration.

. . .

"Only delayed?" Killian asked with disappointment.

"You imagined I would overrule Professor Umbridge's disciplinary actions?" Snape queried as they walked along through the halls of Hogwarts.

"Would you like my honest answer?" Killian asked dejectedly.

"I would like Slytherin House to cease any further evaporation of points," Snape quipped.

Killian fell silent, uncertain of how to respond. The sickening feeling of being a disappointment, usually reserved for the presence of his father, washed over him, his shoulders slouching, his eyes falling to the floor.

"Professor, I …" he began and then stopped. "You don't understand. She's trying to—"

"I am aware of Professor Umbridge's intentions," Snape asserted.

"Then you must understand—"

"What I understand is that you have been singled out as an asset," Snape interjected sternly. "And as such I do not envy your position. However, it is your position and my expectation is that you choose a path that does not adversely affect those around you."

Turning the corner, Killian saw a group of his housemates commiserating in the hall ahead of them.

"I cannot concede to her proposition, Professor," Killian said, weaker than he intended. "I just … I can't."

"Nor, in spirit, would I condone such an act of cowardice," Snape said cryptically. "Now," he went, abruptly changing the subject, "your detention begins in thirty minutes. I expect you will be prompt and prepared."

"Of course, Professor," Killian acknowledged as Snape left him with his peers and continued on down the hall.

Killian loitered for a moment, pondering if he would go to the library or simply return to his common room until he was to meet with Professor Umbridge. Deciding on the latter, he turned to walk off when Pansy Parkinson stepped in his path wearing an oddly friendly smile for a classmate he had scarcely shared a handful of words in their years together at Hogwarts.

"Hi Killian," she said sweetly, placing her hand on his chest and fumbling with his tie.

"Hello Pansy," Killian returned cautiously.

"Where are you off to?" Pansy asked, he fingers cascading down Killian's chest. "Detention again?"

"Not just yet," Killian answered with equal caution. "It appears it has been delayed."

"Delayed?" Pansy asked, her smile so uncharacteristically admiring, it actually made Killian uncomfortable. "How fortunate. Would you like some company?"

"In detention?" Killian asked, quizzically.

"No, silly," Pansy answered with a giggle, slapping Killian on the chest, and grasping his tie once again. "Before your detention. You seem lonely and stressed," she punctuated, pursing her lips and glancing over Killian's shoulder.

For whatever reason, the last comment brought out a giggle from Daphne Greengrass, who was standing the other conversing Slytherins a few feet away.

"While I appreciate the offer," Killian said, grasping Pansy's hand and removing it from his person, "I assure you I am quite fine."

"Suit yourself," Pansy said, putting her hands behind her back and twirling away towards her housemates.

Both confused, yet relieved that Pansy no longer had her hands all over him, Killian left the group and swiftly made his way down the hall in the same direction Professor Snape has gone. He did not even care that it led neither to the library nor the Slytherin House. All he cared was to free himself of the present company.

Paying little attention to his path, he then collided with another student stepping out from a darkened alcove. Grasping the student before she stumbled to the floor, Killian heart leapt.

"Hermione?"

. . .

That evening, Killian's detention began far later than thirty minutes behind schedule. Whatever meeting had occurred in Professor Dumbledore's office, it must have gone well for Umbridge. By her mannerisms alone, in the very least, least it appeared to have gone well.

Although seemingly frazzled when she first arrived at her office, where Killian had been waiting by the door for longer than he would have liked, her demeanor soon calmed and was replaced by a genuine smile of satisfaction and conquest as she sat at her desk quietly watching as Killian scribed his lines.

Hours later, Killian finished the last line he could squeeze onto his current piece of parchment, the pain in his hand having long since transcended to numbness. Placing the Blood Quill on the desk, he looked over to Umbridge, who had moved from her desk and was now sitting in a cushioned chair in the corner of the room rhythmically tapping her fingers on the oaken arm and she sipped her tea.

"I will need more parchment if you'd like me to continue," he said.

Before Umbridge could reply, there was a knock at the door. The Ministry puppet's already overly pleasant manner beamed further as she placed her tea on the side table and crossed the room. When she opened the door, she was greeted by Mr. Filtch.

"Mr. Finn has arrived," the caretaker informed. "Brought 'im here, like you asked. Castle's in a bit of a state. Hard to get 'im in quiet like."

"Excellent work," Umbridge in a sweet, yet dismissive tone.

She then turned her attention towards a tall, older gentleman dressed in a long leather overcoat, carrying an ebony shillelagh topped with a raven's talon clutching a silver orb carved with intricate symbols and designs. "How wonderful to meet you."

"Father?" Killian choked as the gentleman entered the room.

"Killian," his father returned with marked disapproval. "Professor Umbridge has informed me that, with all that is happening, you are adding acid to the wound."

"Happening?" Killian asked. "What do you mean?"

"Times are changin' boy," Mr. Filch said with a toothy and malicious grin.

"That will be enough, Argus," Professor Umbridge asserted, closing the door with a wave of her hand, the crash of wood against stone echoing in the office.

"What is he talking about?" Killian demanded. "What's happened?"

"I believe it might suit you best to hold your tongue at the moment," Killian's father quipped in a stern and commanding tone.

Killian's arrogance melted away in an instant. "I … I'm," he stuttered, feeling like a mere child amongst elders.

"Will you excuse us?" Professor Umbridge asked of Killian. "I would like to speak with your father in private for a moment.

"Wait in the hall," Killian's father instructed.

After a moment's pause, Killian obliged. He really had no other option. Leaving Umbridge's office and the classroom beyond, he sat on the stone bench in the hall with a thousand thoughts swirling through his head. His father. She had sent word to his father. No defiance, no arrogance, no will could counteract that. He had lost.

As Killian wallowed and ponder his fate, thoughts of Hermione passed through his mind. He had not had much time to spend with her over the last several days. She had been busy preparing for her OWLs, and he ... well, of late Umbridge had, once again, been monopolizing his time. He knew that Hermione certainly would have made time for him had she known what Professor Umbridge was putting him through. However, he found it unnecessary to worry her. He had it under control. Or so he thought.

His head in his hands, staring at the floor, Killian caught the scent of Hermione's perfume on his hands. It had only been a few hours since they were sitting in the corridor together. Another chance encounter. No dance ensued on this occasion, however. Instead, Hermione managed to turn her ankle as they, quite literally, bumped into each other.

Concerned for her condition, he had helped her to a bench along the wall where he examined her leg thoroughly; first over her stocking, then sliding it down and feeling her soft skin beneath his fingers. Though finding her injury to be minor, he cautiously continued to pay her every attention, expecting at any moment for Hermione to object. But she offered no resistance, seemingly embracing the moment, exploring her own boundaries as much as he explored his. The moment could not have been more perfect.

And now, her sweet aroma, ghosts of an experience forever locked within his memories, offered him the only fragment of comfort he could hope for in the lonely desolate corridor outside the classroom for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Hey, Finn," came George's voice as two lanky Gryffindors appeared from the shadows of the hall. "You look pleasant."

"Yeah," Fred agreed. "For a punch in the gut, that is. What are you lurking about here for?"

"It appears I'm to be recruited," Killian answered regretfully.

"Recruited? Fred asked.

"Professor Umbridge is looking to put together an organization of students," Killian explained.

"Organization of students?" Fred asked.

"Organized for what?" George asked on.

"Organized for her," Killian answered simply.

"Tell me you're not going to be one of her little gits," Fred pled.

"Not by choice, I can assure you," Killian said, hanging his head and staring at the cold stone floor.

"Sorry, mate," Fred comforted with a hand on Killian's shoulder. "I don't envy your position."

"Pay it no mind," Killian dismissed. "What are you two doing out here?"

"Doing a bit of scouting about," Fred explained.

"The old toad has put a vise on our entrepreneurship," George added.

"Now we're forced to run our business in the underground sense," Fred went on.

"When we can find said underground areas in which to operate, that is," George clarified.

A moment of silence passed between the three students. Killian remained dejected, Hermione's smooth and perfect skin passing though his mind as he breathed in any and all of her essence that still remained upon him. Fred and George, on the other hand, seemed much more contemplative. Too contemplative. The sort of contemplative that usually preceded an ingeniously rebellious solution to a simplistic, yet bothersome, predicament.

"You know," Fred surmised as he rubbed his chin, "it's a shame we don't have someone around to provide some form of cover."

"A terrible shame," George agreed. "Someone like that would make things much easier."

"And it would be such a stick to 'ole Umbridge, don't you think?" Fred asked.

"Absolutely," George assured.

While Killian had been listening to the Weasleys as they prattled on, he had only scarcely been paying attention. They were just voices spouting words in the background of a world that was falling to pieces around him. Then however, as if a proverbial bell went off in his head, those pieces, those shattered remains of dreams and desires, suddenly fell back into place. Suddenly it all made sense. Suddenly there was a purpose once again.

Everything happens for a reason. Everything.

"Anyways," Fred said, patting Killian on the back. "Sorry about your situation."

"Sure you'll make the best of it, though," George added as the twins continued along and disappeared into the darkness.

A moment later, the door to Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom opened.

"Are you ready?" Umbridge asked as she peeked her head through the doorway.

"Of course, Professor," Killian answered with a grin as he stood and dusted his robes. "I am at your service."

. . .

It was a cool, clear evening as Killian stood watch by the stairs leading to the boathouse off the Black Lake as students made their way to the secret Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes location. So far, it had gone off without a hitch. The students would cross the barrier and, essentially, disappear from view, invisible to all senses. It was absolutely genius.

"You're Finn, aren't you?" Harry said as he approached Killian by the stairs.

Turning, Killian was surprised to see Harry Potter. He had heard much about the Boy Who Lived over the years, but this marked the first time he had ever had the opportunity to be in his presence in a personal sense.

"Killian Finn," Killian clarified, more for show than anything else. "And you're Harry Potter. Now that introductions are out of the way, I suppose you'll be wanting to know the access point."

"Yeah, in a bit," Harry said. "I would actually like to talk to you, if you have a minute."

"Certainly," Killian said, raising an eyebrow. "As long as it doesn't interfere with my duties as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad," he added with a wink.

Harry laughed. "How is it, exactly, that you're on the Inquisitorial Squad?"

"Under protest," Killian answered with a grin as he displayed The Inquisitorial Squad is an honor and a privilege carved and scarred into his flesh.

"She got you too, eh?" Harry grinned back, revealing his I must not tell lies reminder.

"Oh, yes. She's quite a pleasant one," Killian said with a roll of his eyes. "Although, I'm certain that's not what you came down here to talk about," he added with a tilt of his head.

"No," Harry admitted. "It's actually … It's about Hermione."

"Hermione?" Killian asked, trying as best as he could to sound unknowing.

"Look," Harry said, clearly not fooled by Killian's weak attempt to cover, "I don't know what is or isn't going on with you two. I mean, I'm not stupid. I have an idea and all. I've seen the way she glances over at you from time to time. She's not as discreet as she'd like to think. Not if anyone is paying attention, that is. But that's not exactly what I wanted to talk about, either. I actually …" Harry paused, organizing his thoughts for a moment. "I came down here to thank you."

"Thank me?" Killian asked, this time genuinely unknowing. "For what?

"For earlier this year," Harry explained.

"Earlier this year?" Killian echoed, now unknowing and suddenly uncomfortable.

"Everyone knows about the confrontation that took place in the courtyard," Harry explained further. "You know, the one that no one was allowed to talk about, so everyone was talking about it. Maybe not about the specific details, everyone seems to be a bit fuzzy on that. Even so, I've been able to put a few things together."

"Such as …?" Killian asked.

"Such as I know Hermione was there," Harry answered. "And I know she wasn't alone. Someone came along and stood with her. Then, with whatever happened in the dungeons that night ... It's not much of a leap to believe to two events are connected. I just couldn't believe a Slytherin …" He cut himself off. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Unfortunately, yes," Killian conceded.

"But you're not like a Slytherin at all, are you?" Harry said.

"I don't know," Killian admitted. "I suppose it depends on who you ask."

"Humilities aside, Hermione is a good friend of mine," Harry said sincerely, "and you helped her when no one else was there. It makes you different in my book."

"Fred and George came along as well," Killian pointed out.

"Yeah, I had that figured as well," Harry said. "But I suspect you weren't planning on that. It could have turned out very wrong, but it didn't. And I know you had something to do with it. May not mean much to some people, but it does to me."

"I don't know what to say," Killian said honestly.

"Yeah …" Harry smiled uncomfortably. "Well, just promise me you won't hurt her. Otherwise, I'll have to … Well, you know."

"Kill me?" Killian offered.

"Right," Harry agreed with a laugh. "Something like that."

"Well, Harry Potter," Killian said with a theatrical bow of his head, "I promise you that if I ever hurt Hermione, my life is yours to take. You have my word."

Harry nodded. There was an understanding between them. For the moment, that was all it would be. An understanding. It was about Hermione, and two people who cared very much for her for far different reasons.

"Speaking of," Killian said as he noticed Hermione, with Thomas bounding in front of her, leading the way.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry greeted warmly.

. . .

"They were down on the boat dock, weren't they?" Draco asked as he sat across from Killian in the Slytherin common room, engaged in a game of Wizard's Chess.

"They were," Killian answered, pondering his next move as Thomas danced back and forth between the chairs aside the chessboard.

"I was this close, wasn't I?" Draco went on, indicating a fraction of space with his thumb and forefinger.

"You were," Killian confirmed, taking Draco's knight in grandiose fashion.

"And what were you planning to do if I went down there?" Draco pressed on, smirking.

"I was going to blast you clear off into the Black Lake." Killian grinned. "So it's a rather good thing you didn't."

"Is that right?" Draco laughed. "And how were you planning to explain that to Professor Umbridge?"

"Hadn't thought that far ahead actually," Killian replied honestly. "I suppose I would have sent her into the lake after you."

Draco shook his head dismissively and moved his rook, which Killian promptly took with an explosion of violence on the board.

"You know you could have told me," Draco offered as he studied his pieces. "I could have avoided the boat docks altogether. Umbridge was just looking for someone to make an example of. I'm sure I could have found someone elsewhere."

"Always out to please, aren't you," Killian teased.

"I'm serious," Draco insisted. "I personally think you're an idiot for getting involved with those Weasley gits, but, whatever. All you had to do was tell me where they were going to be. I would have covered you."

"You would have covered for the Weasleys?" Killian asked doubtfully.

"I said I would have covered for you," Draco corrected before losing his pawn to Killian's bishop. "I didn't let on about Hermione, did I? You don't think I could have said something?"

"I know you could have," Killian agreed. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. It's a rather awkward situation I find myself in. I'm more or less making it up as I go."

"No arguments there," Draco said with a devilish grin. "One hundred points from Gryffindor, though? That was grand. I thought Hermione was going to jinx you right there on the spot."

Killian laughed. "I'm still waiting for it."

"You also could have warned me about the trading cards," Draco pointed out with a sneer.

"I figured you would be intelligent enough not to read something that could potentially be jinxed," Killian said, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't read them."

"I'm thinking you might have had a bit of inside information on that," Draco asserted.

"Maybe," Killian agreed with a smile. "Just a little."

As Killian scanned the chessboard, analyzing his next move, Thomas leapt up into Draco's lap. Scrunching his nose, Draco picked up the twitchy ferret and poked at it.

"How is it that you got to have a ferret, anyway?" Draco asked as Thomas curled up into a ball and nestled in to sleep. "Owls, frogs, rats, and cats. That's all the handbook allows for. You're the only one with a ferret."

"That is because," Killian began, "in life, as in chess, I am astoundingly incredible. Checkmate," he punctuated as he took Draco's king.

"What?" Draco asked, exasperated as he glanced over the board. "Bloody hell."

. . .

"I have to see her!" Killian shouted at his Potions professor, completely ignoring the lack of respect in his tone.

"Absolutely not!" Snape forbade. "She was part of a group that broke into the Ministry. There are several Death Eaters currently sitting in Azkaban on account of the events that took place there, including Lucius Malfoy. People died tonight! If your father discovers you were commiserating with the aforementioned students, he will remove you from this school!"

"I don't bloody care what he does!" Killian went on, his emotions controlling his words far more than any logical thought processes.

"Do not be a fool!" Snape grabbed Killian by the shirt collar and pinned him against the stone wall of his office, glaring with a sternness that surpassed even Snape's customary unpleasantness. "How, exactly, will your removal from Hogwarts remedy the current situation? Think, Mr. Finn! Rash actions are for the moronic and the weak! I hold you to a higher level!"

"Please, Professor," Killian pleaded. "I have to know she's all right! I can't think! I can't breathe! I need to see her!"

Snape relinquished his grip on Killian as Killian's eyes immediately turned to the floor. Snape straightened his robes and took a deep breath, possibly to clear his own head.

"You will return to your House," he ordered. "Draco will need you, I am certain. I will inquire on the condition of Miss Granger."

"Professor?" Killian asked, puzzled as he looked up at Snape, who was doing his best to keep his face expressionless and clear of emotion.

"Now," Snape directed with a wave of his arm.

Without another word, Killian obeyed his mentor. In all truth, Snape was right. Killian's father would pull him out of Hogwarts, and he would never see Hermione again. However, knowing that she was lying there in the hospital wing, uncertain of the extent of her injuries, and his last words to her having been spoke in anger … It was destroying him.

It would be several days before Hermione was released. Through it all, Snape was true to his word, checking in on Hermione regularly and informing Killian on her condition. Once Killian heard his Gryffindor was out of the hospital, however, he hold back no longer.

Late after nightfall, three days before the end of the term, and standing outside her window in the pouring rain, Killian sent a waterlogged paper hummingbird to summon the girl that had agonized his thoughts and emotions for days on end. When they met that night in the courtyard, Killian decided that there would be no more games. She was everything that made him be. He cared for nothing else.