"So, they tried to fool you?" Hermione asked.

            Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the dark corner of the Gryffindor Common Room, while a carnival atmosphere took over most of the room. Harry's housemates had gotten accustomed to being on the winning side of Quidditch matches, but any victory over Slytherin was cause for concentrated debauchery. The Creevey brothers had mysteriously produced a few cases of butterbeer, much to the pleasure of the masses. Harry spotted a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey floating around the room, but thankfully Hermione had not.

            "Yeah, looks like it," Harry said quietly.

            "Only their own rotten trick backfired on them!" Ron exclaimed, raising his butterbeer in jubilation. "I guess they learned their lesson the hard way!"

            "Yeah," Harry muttered, unconvinced. He was pestered by a single doubt: Had Pansy Parkinson been trying to help him? And if so, why? It seemed ridiculous; she apparently had some specific reason to hate him. And why would she betray her own house?

            On the other hand, the game had run on for over six hours without the Snitch appearing anywhere. It was highly improbable that she accidentally sent up the signal at the precise moment when the Snitch appeared.

            "Wow, man!" came a new voice. Dean Thomas appeared next to them suddenly, slurring his words slightly. "Great catch, Harry. I mean… wow. You deflected the Quaffle, took a bludger in the side, even got knocked off your broom, and still made the catch!"

            "Thanks," Harry said sheepishly. He was sure that he was nearly as red as Ron's hair.

            "And you!" Dean went on, pointing a wobbly finger at Ron. "Four goals? In six hours? That's incredible, man. I think that's a record, in fact!"

            Ron smiled. "I'm not that good really," he said demurely. "Slytherin is just that bad."

            Dean would not hear it. "What about Hufflepuff, man? You didn't let them score at all!"

            "Well, yeah, but that was Huff-"

            "Hey, come back over here with me," Dean said mischievously. "I've got some one I want you to meet." He pulled Ron up by the arm, and led him over to the throng of celebrating Gryffindors.

            Hermione watched them both go, her eyes narrowed severely. "Looks like Dean is introducing Ron to… Neville."

            Harry laughed. "Let him go, Hermione. He doesn't get to soak in their praise nearly often enough."
            "Maybe so," Hermione said indifferently, still watching Ron in the crowd of students. She turned back to Harry with a suspicious look on her face. "Did Dean seem drunk to you?"
            "Who? Dean? No way," Harry said quickly. "Look, never mind that right now. I've got something to ask you."

            "Oh?" 

            "During the game, I had an interesting talk with Malfoy," Harry said, speaking quietly to Hermione but keeping his eyes on Ron across the room. "Apparently, he's the one who is, erm, dating Ginny."

            Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Harry, that's awful!"

            Harry nodded. "Yeah. If Ron finds out, it won't be a pretty scene."

            "Harry, you're not planning on telling him, are you?" Hermione asked frightfully.

            "Not if I care for my limbs," Harry replied. "My best bet is to handle this quickly and quietly."

            "Harry, what are we going to do about it?" Hermione asked desperately.

            "We?" Harry repeated. "I thought you said Ginny could date whoever she wanted!"           

            Hermione frowned at him. "Well, yes, but… Look. We know that Draco is evil. His parents are Deatheaters. If he's after Ginny, we've got to stop it!"

            Harry smiled; Hermione was talking sense again. "I've thought about taking a page out of The Book of Ron' and just murdering that little git."

            "That would be effective," Hermione agreed. "But it lacks finesse."

            "What do you propose?"
            "I don't know," she answered. "I will have to think about it. In the meantime-" She was swiveling her head back and forth at increasing speed. "-Where is Ginny?"

            With a sense of rising panic, Harry got to his feet and visually searching the room. He glanced back at Hermione a few fruitless seconds later.

            "I'll go check the girls' dormitories," she exclaimed, but Harry put his hand on her shoulder.

            "I have a better idea: Let's check the Map." Harry led Hermione up the stairs to the Boys Dormitory, which was fortunately empty. Harry reached under his bed and pulled out a small chest containing two things which had once belonged to his father; an invisibility cloak and an old, ruffled roll of parchment. Checking again to see that they were alone, they hopped on his bed and pulled the curtains shut. He unfolded the paper, spreading it out on his bed. Harry pulled out his wand and tapped it on the blank page, uttering the magical words:

            "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

            Ink appeared on the surface of the empty paper and spread quickly across, laying out a map of Hogwarts. In addition to recording every passageway in the old school, the mischievous map displayed hundreds of tiny moving dots. The dots were labeled with names, and they depicted the current location of everyone on the school grounds. Harry did not waste time checking the great hall or the library, but put his finger at once on the Slytherin common room, where a dot named Ginny Weasley was keeping some dubious company; Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy were all huddled around her.

            Hermione gave Harry a horrible look. "Oh no, she's with him!"

            Harry frowned. "I don't know how I could get into the Slytherin common room." The only time he had made it inside was during his second year, and then only because he had been magically disguised as a member of the house. It would take a month to brew the potion needed to pull that stunt again.

            "What are we going to do?"

            "Shhh!" Harry cut her off by pointing at the map, where the Ronald Weasley dot was leaving a mass in the Gryffindor common room and drawing ever closer to their own dots. "Mischief Managed!" Harry said sharply but quietly.

            "Hey guys, are you in here?" Ron's voice called into the room. "Harry?"

            In their rush to clear the map, it did not occur to Harry that their situation looked a little unusual. Hermione on the other hand, had acted quickly and pulled the invisibility cloak over her body. Ron pulled open the curtain and craned his head in to look at Harry. "Hey mate, what're you doing up here?" he asked jovially. "The party is all downstairs!"

            "Oh, I…" Harry fumbled for words, but gave up when he noticed that Ron was no longer looking at him. Instead, the redhead's attention seemed taken by the sight of half of a woman's lower leg, sitting at the foot of Harry's bed. Ron gave Harry an odd look, and pulled off the invisibility cloak.

            "Hi, Ron," Hermione said as she emerged.

            "Oh!" He said loudly, shutting the curtain as quickly he was able. "Sorry! I-"

            "Ron!" Hermione shouted, "It's not what it looks like!"          

            If Ron had asked what they were actually doing on Harry's bed, they would have been hard-pressed to answer it. Instead, however, they heard his feet carrying him down the stairs, taking his wrong conclusion with him.

            "Oh god, Harry," Hermione murmured. "What are we going to do?"

            "We're going to split up," Harry said through clinched teeth.

            "We weren't even dating!" Hermione protested.

            "No, not that! You go talk to Ron, and I'll go get Ginny," he told her.

            Hermione flushed red. "Okay, good plan," she agreed quickly. "But wait! What do I tell Ron?"

            Harry had already grabbed his things and was making for the door. He turned around slowly, looking at Hermione tenderly. "The truth?"
            "What? That Ginny is dating—" She stopped herself there, then continued in a whisper. "That she's dating Draco?"

            Harry shook his head. "No, the other truth," Harry said. "That you aren't really dating me. That you and I are just friends. That you could never date me because you've been absolutely hung up on him since our third year."

            Hermione's eyes went wide, and her power of speech seemed to fail her. Harry, somewhat surprised by his own words, seized on this moment and swept from the room quickly. He threw on the invisibility cloak in the spiral staircase outside of the dormitory, just in time to avoid Neville coming up from the common room. Within seconds, he was out in the cold, stone corridors of Hogwarts, racing toward the Slytherin House. He tried not to imagine what was going on in that place, but even so he felt his pulse rising. He lowered his head and sped up. The temperature of the air seemed to have dropped five degrees by the time he made his way into the dank dungeons of the school, and he was almost to the Slytherin room itself when he heard a harsh female voice from around the nearest corner.

            "C'mon on, you little wretch!"

            Harry instinctively stopped his forward progress and flattened himself against the wall, hiding behind a statue of a Theophilus the Valiant. He reined in his breath just enough to hear a muffled whimpering noise.

            "You can cut that out," the voice went on. "You must know that I won't feel sorry for you. Now, quit your whining, and let's get you back where you belong."

            These words were answered by an anguished cry that Harry recognized as Ginny's. Pulling off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into his robes, Harry rounded the corner with a brisk walk. He found Ginny sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall and holding her head in her hands. Pansy stood in front of the other girl, disdain painted on her pale features. She looked up when she heard Harry coming, and smiled wickedly.

            "How surprising," she said flatly. "Taking another turn at eavesdropping?"

            Harry frowned, but answered boldly. "What have you done to her?"

            "Me?" Pansy said, laughing slightly. "Nothing serious. I was simply taking her back to her owners when she fell over, the child. She's been quite difficult to move. It's a good thing one of her stewards came along—I was about to abandon her." She turned her attention back to Ginny with a contemptuous smile on her lips.

            Ginny, for her part, seemed unaware that Harry was even present, but simply cowered and cried.

            Harry glowered at her. "Doing Malfoy's dirty work for him, are you?"

            Pansy shot him a glance of particular severity. "Make sure you understand one thing, half-blood," she growled. "I am no one's errand girl. Let's just say I'm… taking out the trash." She gave Ginny's foot a nudge with her shoe.

            "Don't say that," Harry growled. He crossed the remaining distance between them and stood next to Pansy, trying to look imposing.

            Pansy regarded him bemusedly. "Well, go ahead, then," she said, her voice almost a laugh. "You can have her. She's yours again."

            "For your information," Harry said curtly, "She isn't mine."
            "Oh, poor thing," Pansy crooned, looking down at Ginny. "It seems no one wants you. Pity." With this, the dark haired Slytherin girl began walking away, in the direction of the Slytherin common room.

            "You tell Draco to keep his hands off of her," Harry called after her.

            Pansy stopped, but did not turn you once. "I already told you that I am no one's errand girl, not even yours, Lord Potter. You tell him yourself." She resumed her walk, laughing audibly, and Harry turned his attention back to his best friend's sister.

            "Come on, Gin," he muttered. "Let's get you home."

            Ginny, who had not said a word during the entire conversation, looked up at Harry in surprise. "Harry?" she asked, sounding lost. He felt his heart lunge at the sight of her; eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed, her hair tossled and tangled. It was not hard to guess what had happened -- Draco must have staged the break-up in front of his Slytherin friends, and they had likely had some sport at her suffering. It was little wonder that the girl was so upset.

            He took both of her wrists into his hands and hoisted her to her feet. He put his right arm behind her back, and began guiding her through the wide stone corridors. "Let's get you home, Gin," he repeated. "Back where you belong."

            His companion only whimpered in response.

            It took them nearly half an hour to get back to Gryffindor Tower. Under the watchful gaze of the Fat Lady, Harry pulled out the map and checked the location of Hermione and Ron. He was not terribly surprised to see that they were not in the Common room at all, but were outside the castle, sitting alone beside the lake. He took Ginny as far as the base of the stairs that lead to the girls' dormitories, and there parted company with her. He gave her a tender hug and sent her upstairs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            On Monday, Harry awoke slowly and sat up in bed. He shook his slowly, trying to clear it of the dream he had been having. Visions floated in front of his waking mind; He had been walking down a bright, sunny street with a flower in his hand. He had met a girl there, a foggy, ethereal form whose face he could not make out. Giving up, he found his glasses and got out of bed. "Come on, Ron," he said loudly. "It's time for breakfast. We've got a long day ahead of us."

            It was not unprecedented that Ron did not answer at once; often Harry had to call his roommate more than once to rouse him from slumber. What was surprising was that Ron was not in his bed at all. Now that he thought of it, his old chum had been rather scarce the entire day before. Harry's weary mind was incapable of adding two and two at the moment, so he dressed quickly and went down to breakfast alone, in a state of profound bewilderment. It was not until he took his seat at the Gryffindor table next to his two best friends that things finally slipped into place.

            Ron and Hermione sat across the table from each other, maintaining an oblivious silence. Neither noticed Harry's arrival, even though he nearly uprooted Ron while squeezing into the seat between him and Dean. "There you are Ron!" Harry exclaimed, digging into his scrambled eggs fervently. "I was terrified when you weren't in your bed this morning."
            "Mmm-hmmm," said Ron astutely.

            "I thought maybe one of Luna's Snorkacks had gotten to you!" Harry continued.

            "Huh?" Ron asked, not breaking his vigil with Hermione. "No, I didn't have time to finish McGonagall's essay."

            Harry stared at his redheaded comrade, unable to process what was transpiring before his eyes. An odd thought flashed through his forebrain. "Say," he began slowly, watching his two best friends in astonishment. "Where were you guys yesterday?"

            "A better question," Dean said quietly, leaning closer to Harry in a conspiratorial way, "Is where were you? These two have been like this since Saturday night."

            Harry frowned at Dean. Dean shrugged. Ron smiled at Hermione. Hermione giggled, and Ron joined her in this. Harry decided it was time for drastic action.

            "I think Ginny and Draco broke up," He blurted, watching Ron delicately.

            Hermione blushed slightly, drooping her head but still looking into Ron's eyes.

            "What are you playing at, mate?" Dean hissed.

            "She was pretty shaken up about it, to be honest," Harry went on in disbelief. "I'm sure she'll recover, but it was a harrowing ordeal for her."

            "I wouldn't say that," Hermione inserted. "I think a few solid hours of practice for the Chasers and Gryffindor will be in top form."

            Harry dropped his fork. "Is Hermione talking about Quidditch?" He gasped. "What have I done?"

            "Funny, isn't it?" Dean said, shaking his head wistfully at the young couple. "From a muggle perspective, I mean. We came into this school with hardly any knowledge of the magical world, and spent the next few years gaping at how magic revolutionized our lives. Everything we knew in childhood had to be modified to fit the new data; transportation, medicine, even the very laws of physics! Today, we learn the rest of the lesson – no matter how powerful a wizard might be, there are still natural forces that magic is powerless against."

            Harry blinked rapidly. "Like girls?"

            "Precisely."

            Dean's ruminations on the efficacy of magic were interrupted by the arrival of that day's Owl Post. As usual, a large barn owl dropped off Hermione's copy of The Daily Prophet, this time directly on top of cheese omelet. Nonplussed, Hermione stared at Ron with a dreamy look in her eyes, inserted her fork into the rolled up paper and began sawing softly on it with her knife. The owl, meanwhile, settled on top of her head and began nesting in her hair, awaiting payment. Harry stared at her, mesmerized by the vacancy in her stare, and as such did not notice the envelope in front of him until Dean pointed it out.

            "You gonna open that?"

            Harry looked down to find a lurid yellow envelope on the table before him. On the front was his name and location. He flipped it over to see a large smiley face, winking at him suggestively, beneath the return address: "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes".

            "I dunno, Dean," Harry said slowly. "Do you think I should? There's no telling what sort of charms might be on it."

            A word bubble appeared next to the smiley face, in which appeared the words: "Go on, Harry! Open it!"

            "Not a good idea, mate," Ron said, startling Harry severely.

            "Glad to see you're back among the living," Harry returned sourly.

            "What are you talking about?" Ron asked quizzically. His face betrayed pure bewilderment.

            Harry gave him an incredulous look. "What am I talking about?" he repeated. "Quidditch. I was talking about Quidditch."

            "Oh," Ron muttered, clearly relieved. "You know, Hermione had a really good idea for the team. She thinks we need to train our Chasers better." He looked across the table, and his eyes seemed to lose their luster. "I love the way you take an interest in Quidditch."

            Harry gave up on Ron and looked back at the envelope. The smiley face had a new word bubble, this one saying: "Come on, trust us!"

            "Bloody Hell," Harry cursed, tearing open the envelope. A thin stream of stinksap sprayed from inside, coating his robes. "Sonofa-"

            Dean laughed. "Anything less and you'd have reason to suspect a forgery," he observed.

            Harry shot Dean a dirty look and pulled out the single page inside.

Dearest Harry,

          Meet us in front of Zonko's this Saturday at three o'clock sharp. We have urgent business to discuss, and we assure you it will be worth your while. Don't be late!

                    Mildly sorry about the stinksap,

                              Gred and Forge

            "Is this weekend a Hogsmeade visit?" he asked Dean severely.

            "Uh, yeah," Dean said after due consideration.

            "What in the hell?" Harry wondered aloud.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            At exactly 3:27 pm, Harry looked up to see a pair of identical grins looking down at him. "Don't be late?" He asked curtly, shutting his Transfiguration book loudly.

            "Hmmm, sounds like prudent advice," Fred observed.

            "Mother dear was always telling us that, anyway," George put in.

            The twins seized Harry by the wrists and pulled him to his feet.

            "Ahhh, Zonko's," George went on, eyeing the store behind Harry fondly.

            "Spent many an hour in there," Fred said, picking up the thread of conversation.

            "Buying,"

            "Selling,"

            "Plotting,"

            "But most of all,"

            "Sharing."

            "Yes."

            "Sharing, Harry," George said emphatically. "It was a place of great personal growth for us all."

            "Old Zonko," Fred said, raising his hand in solemn salute. The gesture was genuine, Harry felt, whether or not Fred's hand happened to be holding a rubber chicken.

            "A true genius," George chimed.

            "The greatest wizard of his time," Fred said.

            "Took Hogwarts by storm, he did."

            "I'm sure," Harry chimed. "But then, I recall you two made quite a name for yourselves as well."

            Fred smiled bashfully. Regaining his composure, he put his hand on George's shoulder and intoned soulfully: "Our legacy."

            "Ah, yes."

            The twin pranksters fell silent for several whole minutes.

            "Not to ruin the moment or anything, but what did you two want me for anyway?" Harry interjected irritably.

            "We're getting to that, my impetuous friend," George said, scowling at Harry.

            "My colleague and I, well, we have some concerns," Fred began in an officious tone.

            "My colleague speaks the truth," George went on. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, who was the greatest Prankster at Hogwarts last year?"

            "The best comedians?"

            "The most accomplished hell-raisers?"

            Harry passed his gaze back and forth between the twins. In the joke shop behind him, a series of small explosions culminated in a loud pop and a flash of blue light. "You two were."

            "Ah, excellent," Fred said, blushing.

            "Oh, do go on," George demurred.

            "Walk with us, Harry," Fred said, leading the Boy-Who-Lived away from Zonko's and down the street.   "That was an easy one, I'll admit."

            "But then, riddle us this," George supplied.

            "Who was second best?"

            "Eh?" Harry asked shrewdly.

            "Who was the runner-up?"
            "Who carried the silver medal?"

            "Who held the second fiddle?"

            "Who was elected Vice-prankster, should the presidents (heaven forbid!) be unable to fulfill their vital role?"

            Harry stopped walking, puzzled. Fred and George looked at him expectantly, leaning in slightly in their interest.

            "I-I really can't think of anyone," Harry responded.

            Fred clapped his hands together and George nodded his head gravely.

            "Thus far, Harry my boy, you have demonstrated uncanny perspicacity in answering our questions," Fred said, clapping him on the shoulder fondly.

            "Which is a fancy way of saying that you answered them precisely the same way we did," George interjected.

            "Which rather leads us to our problem," Fred concluded.

            Harry looked at the two of them blankly.

            "You see, Harry… may I call you Harry?" George asked, hooking Harry's elbow in his own and continuing the walk.

            "You've been calling me that since-" Harry began.

            "We think we are pretty good at what we do," Fred cut him off.

            "Maybe we're right, maybe we're wrong," George went on.

            "It doesn't matter. It's a purely academic question."

            "It seems that many are inclined to agree with us in our assessment," George continued pompously.

            "But where is the proof?"

            "We lack evidence!"

            "Habeas Corpus, if you speak Latin."

            "I don't," Harry started again. "But-"

            "And sadly, that unenviable state of affairs is beyond repair."

            "We wept bitterly when we realized this," George confided.

            "You mean-"

            "Yes, Harry, we wept," Fred said loudly, striding tall.

            "We're not ashamed to admit it."

            "WAIT!" Harry said, nearly shouting. "You're upset because… there is no evidence to back up your legacy?"

            Fred and George exchanged a meaningful look. "Gred, I knew we chose wisely when we selected Master Potter."

            "Dash cunning, he is, Forge."

            "What do you want? Photographs? Witness testimony? Notarized reports?" Harry asked, confused to the point of frustration.

            "Well…"
            "That sort of thing would be nice, wouldn't it?"

            "But it is too late for us, as we've already said," Fred said, frowning slightly.

            "Our only thought is for the next generation," George stated.

            "Our only hope is to spare the next round of pranksters from our horrible fate," Fred said, an odd glimmer in his eyes.

            "It is our thought that we can rescue those poor souls with a little bit of chronicling."

            "Write down their exploits."

            "Add definition to their legacy-"

            "-By showing the competition they overcame."

            The Weasley twins appeared to have found their peroration.

            "And?" Harry asked in exasperation.

            "It is our responsibility at WWW to foster and assist young new genius," Fred declared.

            "It's in the mission statement!" George exclaimed gleefully.

            "To that end, we have decided to sponsor the Heir to the Throne competition."

            "A month-long extravaganza that will allow the next generation to demonstrate their abilities."
            "A proving ground for the brightest witches and wizards!"

            "Contestants may enter in pairs or individually."

            "Naturally, we have reason to suspect that it will be a two-person act that comes out on top."

            "Seems the natural order."

            "Where was Zonko without his hatchetman, Patrick?"

            "Abbot without Costello?"

            "Potter without Black?"

            "Ant without Buckley?"

            "Spassky without Fischer?"

            "Weasley…"

            "…without Weasley?"

            Fred and George paused in a reflective silence.

            Harry felt a now-familiar sensation of dread beginning in his stomach. "What… does this contest have to with me?"
            "Harry, my friend, you are to be the scorekeeper."

            "Come again?"

            "Well, sadly, we can't be there ourselves to monitor the proceedings," George lamented.

            "Although, I assure that Dumbledore is in complete support of the project," Fred hastened to say.

            "Of course, in our experience, complete support of' and complete ignorance of' are effectively interchangeable terms."

            "All the same, we need a man on the inside."

            "For the contestants to report to."

            "To tally the effects of their exploits."

            "For crying out loud, to enjoy the carnage!"

            "Harry," Fred said imploringly, taking his hand, "You were the natural choice."

            "We thought of our brother, of course."

            "But there is that pesky Prefect business to consider."

            "Too messy altogether."

            "And then we thought of our sister."

            "But she is suspect in a crucial category."

            "Namely, that of talking too regularly with our mother."

            "But you! You are perfect!"

            "You alone have the brains!"

            "The capacity for enjoyment for a good prank!"

            "The discretion!"

            "To pull this off."

            "We could pay you, of course."

            "Gold, Harry!"

            "Seems a little strange, though."
            "At least, in light of your, erm, investment history."

            "A gift we won't soon forget!"

            "And one we hope to repay someday."

            "I don't want your money!" Harry blurted.

            "Pro bono, then?"

            "Good man!"

            "We had hoped you'd say that!"
            "I knew we could count on you!"

            Harry never had the chance to say no.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry made his way down the wide streets of Hogsmeade, a thick stack of flyers from WWW hiding in his bag. ("To be distributed with decorum!" Fred had declared gaily. "By which he means given out secretly," George had clarified.) He felt a general sense of irritation rising within him, but it would have been hard to nail down the precise reason. It might have been the weight of his satchel, which he carried around grudgingly. It might have been the pervasive cold, pouring down relentlessly from the gray skies. It could well have been the unwelcome task that had just been foisted upon him. At the moment, though, he was most aggravated by his lack of a destination.

            On previous voyages to Hogsmeade, he had always had something to do. There had been a (fortunately brief) romantic entanglement with Cho Chang, now a seventh year Ravenclaw. There had been the clandestine meeting to gauge interest in the DA. More obviously, he had always had Ron and Hermione to keep him company. In the last week, however, he had become a third wheel. It was not that they meant to push him aside or exclude him in any way, but every time he was with them those days, he felt worse than alone. They had stumbled upon something new and exciting that he could not be a part of, and as much as he tried to be happy for them, it killed him to hang out with them.

            Feeling profoundly sorry for himself, Harry shouldered his way through the door of the Three Broomsticks. He stalked up to the counter and ordered a mug of butterbeer, and began searching for a place to seat. On every other trip he had made to that bar, this was no mean feat. That day the business was unaccountably slow. There were only two occupied tables in the whole establishment. On his left, sitting at a broad, round table were three cloaked wizards, talking in low but menacing voices. Against the far wall, in a booth by herself, sat Pansy Parkinson, apparently studying. Harry made his way over to her on an odd impulse.

            "Hi," he said meekly, standing in front of her table with a silly grin on his face.

            Pansy scarcely looked up from her texts. "Lord Potter," she said loudly, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

            Harry frowned but quickly recovered. "I wanted to talk to you."

            Pansy set her quill down on the table with a loud click and locked her eyes with Harry's. "This ought to be good," she said in the same loud voice. "What would make a Gryffindor approach a Slytherin in full view of the public eye? Well, sit down then!"

            Harry set his mug on the table and sheepishly sat down. "It's… uh…"

            "Yes?"

            "I wanted—to ask you about the Quidditch game," he pronounced finally.

            "The Gryffindor-Slytherin match? As I recall you made one of your legendary catches and earned honor and prestige for yourself and your team," she said slowly, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Did you forget? Or did you simply want me to say it?"

            Harry blushed furiously and looked around to see if anyone had heard her previous statements. If the other table in the bar had noticed, they gave no sign of it. "That's not what I meant."

            "No?" She said laughingly. "Perhaps you wanted me to lavish praise on Weasley's Keeping abilities? He-"

            "No!" Harry said, more loudly than he had intended. "I wanted to ask you about the Golden Snitch."

            Pansy said nothing but surveyed Harry with penetrating eyes.

            "Did you… cheat in that game?" He managed with difficulty.

            "Oh, I see," Pansy said severely. "You were listening in, were you?"

            Harry shrugged; there was little hope of hiding that particular fact. "Yeah, I was. Were you trying to help Draco out, or me?"

            "What goes on between Draco Malfoy and I is no business of yours," Pansy snapped.

            Harry's mind turned quickly, searching for a rude final statement, which he could deliver haughtily and walk away. When nothing came quickly to his mind, he simply sat in his seat for another moment. "You were supposed to help him cheat, weren't you?"

            Pansy shook her head slowly, but said nothing.

            Harry pressed on. "He wanted you to throw me off the path of the Snitch, send me barking up the wrong tree."

            "What is it you want, Lord Potter?" she asked angrily. "A written statement that you can turn into Madame Hooch or Professor Dumbledore?"

            "Nope," Harry said quietly. "I want to know why you betrayed Draco to help me."

            Harry's word hung heavily in the air for a moment, and Pansy did not answer immediately. "You may rest assured that I did not have your best interests in mind."

            "No doubt," Harry conceded. "You… you don't like Draco, do you?"

            Pansy laughed a little, but in a different way than Harry was used to. The only laughter he had ever heard from Pansy Parkinson was hard to mistake; she laughed at people, not with them. This time, however, the cruel, superior edge to her voice was notably absent. It was actually a pretty sound. "Nobody likes Draco, Potter," she said. "Not me, certainly. Not Crabbe, nor Goyle. Not even Draco himself."

            A small part of Harry, deep within, was moved to pity for the blond-headed Slytherin. The rest of him, meanwhile, laughed heartily at the notion. "Surely his father does?"

            Pansy laughed even harder, slapping her palm emphatically on the table top. "Nope, not him either. The thing you have to know about the Malfoys is that they are very different people in public than they are at home. In front of witnesses, of course, Lucious cares deeply for his son. At home, though, he treats his House Elves better than his son."

            Harry's eyes widened slightly. "Wow."

            "You can say that again," Pansy said, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye.

            Harry did.

            Pansy laughed again. "It is a pity," she said after a moment, "that you weren't in the tent with me. I think you are one of the only other people who could have appreciated the look on his face!"

            Harry laughed again, surprised to realize that he felt rather comfortable with her. And yet, a nagging question persisted in the back of his brain. "Um, Pansy?"

            Pansy seemed to snap back into her former, cold self. "What is it?" she asked, her voice sounding almost angry.

            "Aren't you… dating Draco?"

            Pansy looked away, was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly bitter. "No, we aren't dating at the moment."

            "But you used to?"
            Still, she did not look at him. "In a manner of speaking, yes," she answered quietly. "We were dating, and we will be dating again someday."

            Harry was bewildered. "But…"
            "I know; I said that I don't like him. And I don't, and I never will. But someday I will marry him, a fact as inevitable as it is undesirable."

            "But, why?" he asked hesitantly, afraid of how she might reply.

            "It is evident that you don't know what you're talking about," she said, turning to face him at last. Harry felt his stomach lurch at the look on her face. Her eyes, normally deep inky wells, contained a shade of pink he had never seen before. Her nose was twitching slightly, and her red lips quavered with a powerful emotion. Hurt? Rage? He could only guess.

            "I have to go now," she said quietly. She began gathering her things together.

            Harry opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, having nothing to say. He watched helplessly as Pansy shouldered her bag and walked away from the table without another word. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wondered why he was so adept at upsetting girls. He grabbed his own bag, leaving the mug of butterbeer untouched on the table, and rushed after her. He tore out of the front entrance to the Three Broomsticks, and spotted her on his right side, walking away slowly. "Pansy!" he shouted after her. "Pansy, wait!"

            Pansy stopped walking, her shoulders visibly sagging. She turned around slowly and looked at him impatiently.

            Across the street, a pair of Hufflepuff third years looked at them in alarm. Paying no heed to the audience, Harry hurried over to the Slytherin. "Look, Pansy, about what I said in there… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

            "Forget about it," she said simply.

            "Look, I didn't want…"

            "I said forget about it," she repeated, her voice sounding almost angry now.         He reached into his bag and produced one of the flyers from WWW. "Here. Take this," he said, handing it to her. "Keep on it the DL."

            "DL?" she asked bemusedly, scanning the paper with interest.

            "Uh… yeah. It's a muggle slang term for keep it quiet'."

            "Muggle slang, Lord Potter? How unbecoming of a proper wizard!" Her voice carried no trace of the condemning tone he had come to expect of her. In fact, it sounded as though she were just kidding.

            Harry shrugged. "Never really wanted to be a proper wizard anyway."

            Pansy looked away from the flyer and smiled at him. "Well, if you keep hanging out with Muggles, that shouldn't be a problem."

            "I can't help it," he said. "I live with them during the summers."

            "How frightful," she giggled.

            "You have no idea."

            "So, what am I supposed to do with this, anyway?" she asked, gesturing at the sheet.

            "I, er, thought you might consider. You know, just in case you had any more neat pranks to pull on Draco," he said, laughing a little nervously.

            "Okay," she said, sticking the sheet in her bag.

            "Do you think I could get you to put one up in your common room?" he said slowly, pulling out another flyer. "I mean, I know most of the people in Slytherin are idiots, but, you know, just in case." He gave her a big smile.

            She glared at him for a second, but that quickly faded into a sly smile. "Are you sure you want to do this, Scarhead?"

            "Sure. Why not?"

            "If you open this contest up to my house, you know we'll win," she said, a combative look in her eyes.

            "Slytherin? Slytherin doesn't win anything, least of all Quidditch matches," he said, smiling maliciously.

            Pansy put her finger up, as if in warning. "Only on account of cheating," she reminded him.

            "Hey," he said defensively. "We didn't cheat!"

            "Even so," she said, blushing slightly. "Good-bye, Potter."

            "Bye, Pansy," he said to her back as she walked away.