HAVEN

by vyrastra

Dark deeds stir: after the Second War, Hogwarts is closed and it's a brave new world. The students who survived must make up their lost year in an unlikely place, racing to confront what divided them before. (REBOOT: Post-DH Dramione epic, with Pottermore, sans Epilogue; maximum resolution of loose ends from canon.)

3. TBA Chapter 3

HAVEN

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Chapter 6: A Nasty Surprise

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Tuesday morning saw a flurry of owls in the Headmistress' office; she had taken to eating alone there for the past few weeks and owls had come there to find her. But McGonagall's attention stayed with only one of the group – an imported Great Horned, bowing pompously and bearing a scroll of an elegant silvery green.

Monday, the twenty-eighth of July.

My Dearest Minerva,

I have indeed secured a patron for the operation, and with no small degree of work, either. However, 'anything for the mistress of Hogwarts,' as I always say, and I must assure you that it was my sincerest and dearest pleasure to be of aid…

The patron himself prefers to remain unnamed; I feared to press him further for, as I'm sure you know, my associates tend to be of more… ascendant motives. In this particular case, if my patron receives some great benefit from his actions, it is in his best interests to hide this fact; if my patron does it out of the supposed goodness of his heart, he must hide this as well, or his business partners will assume that he is going soft, in the chance that word were to get out. Thusly, I assured him that the both of us are indeed perfectly understanding of his sad dilemma, and I trust that the simple matter of anonymity will not be a problem. Simply pass on the expenses to me, and I shall relay them to our most generous benefactor.

The list of students that I will be inviting is not available at the present time, for which inconvenience I proceed to offer the humblest of heartfelt apologies. The choice, you see, is far too difficult to be so quickly, capriciously made... Fear not, however – I shall indeed be selecting my three from the very cream of Slytherin, and I sincerely pray that you believe me when I tell you that I have found (or will have found) the very best and most secure of reasons to put my closely-guarded trust in these children.

I look forward to meeting you again soon; may the spirit of Hogwarts and the honor of our forefathers burn bright and forever live on!

Most sincerely yours,

Professor Horace G.R. Slughorn, Ma.D., Wi.G., O.M. 4th Class

PS. My dear Minerva, would you please tell the portrait of Professor Jensen-Flanders that my contacts in Beauxbatons tell me that her granddaughter Isadora is doing wonderfully? I am sure that she will grow up to be a wonderful young woman, one who is (please repeat this part verbatim-!) "specifically bred to hold the reins of power in her birdlike, clever hands!" My many and gracious thanks to you for relaying this message! H.

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Friday, August 1st.

Horace,

I am glad to know that you have managed your task. I may confess now that it was rather an unfair assignment. But I am happy to find that you have risen to the challenge regardless.

Naturally, I am rather unsettled by our patron's desire for anonymity. Still, I believe that our late Headmaster was right in believing you trustworthy – however misguided his other decisions of the sort may have been.

I hope that you will choose your Slytherins with care. Thank you for assuring me that their loyalties will be examined; do not forget that they will also need to be of the proper disposition to get along with students from other houses. After all, we cannot have Grimmauld Place turn into a taunting ground.

I expect you and your students to arrive at Grimmauld Place on Friday, September 5th. For security purposes, we can only let in students who arrive with a registered teacher, so I suggest that you arrange for your group to gather together beforehand. Or better yet, pick them up yourself – that provides for a lower security risk.

Filius and myself have already sent out our formal invitations; our students should have received them last month on the 28th. Each packet should include copies of the official materials I have included – supply lists, statements of purpose, liability releases, welcoming letters and suchlike, as well as a personal letter from you to your sponsored students. Pomona is drafting her letter as we speak, and I expect you to have your own packets posted by August 18th at the latest.

Good luck.

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress.

PS. Professor Jensen-Flanders' portrait begs that you stop interfering in her grandchildrens' lives. She assures me that you may give up the cause for lost, as her granddaughter Isadora "most certainly does not wish to establish a Slug Club offshoot in Beauxbatons," again verbatim.

PPS. "Anything for the mistress of Hogwarts?" I may have to keep that remarkably self-sacrificial line for future reference, Horace. I suggest you take it back while you still have the chance, especially since I certainly have never heard you say it before.

-

Monday, August 4th.

My dear Headmistress,

Oh, please excuse me. Did I say that? I assure you, it was all in good fun. I offer you profuse thanks for catching the error.

And please give my apologies to Professor Jensen-Flanders. But it is a pity, I must say, such a pity! Her Isadora is destined for great things indeed… (And you may repeat that too, if you please.)

Yours most truly,

Horace Slughorn

-x-

From the day that she received McGonagall's letter, time had seemed to slow down to a crawl for Hermione. The brunette was sure that she would have had as much fun as Harry, Ron, and Ginny, had she been interested in Quidditch and table-bashing. Predictably, she was not… It was good to be around her friends, but if it were not for them, she could have done without the chaos and the noise and the incessant cries of "Quidditch! Quidditch!" or "Ron, get the quaffle!" or "Shut up, Ginny!" or "RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY, YOU GET OFF THAT BROOM AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT GNOME RIGHT THIS MOMENT OR I WILL TELL YOUR FATHER!" and so on. Because Weasley summers were just that – Weasley summers.

Her brow furrowed as she remembered how Ron had even tried to pry her away from her only respite – her books. Couldn't he see that she liked to be alone sometimes? Harry and Ron were her best friends, and Ginny a dear girl, but Hermione Granger still had a special affection for books. To take them away from her, surrounded as she was by quidditch and brooms – Hermione groaned inwardly at the thought.

She'd left the Burrow a little before September, opting to spend the last three weeks of summer at home. But although the brunette had thoroughly enjoyed her time back in the world that she came from, her Muggle parents could never quite seem to grasp the magnitude of what was happening around her.

Of course, it would not have been difficult for Hermione to explain the situation in a way that would have made her mother and father truly understand. But something told her to reserve the chaos of War and Harry and Horcruxes all to herself. Something in her wanted to keep a part of her past the same – the old dentist jokes, the awards for medical excellence on the walls, her mother's bland cooking and her father's boisterous laugh.

It didn't matter that all these things belonged to a world where she no longer fitted in. As long as that world didn't change…

So in this manner, the days had trickled by until finally, September 5th had come. And here she was at last, now – standing with her friends before the entry to Grimmauld Place, clutching her overstuffed suitcase with one hand and a few extra books that wouldn't fit in the other, feeling a potent mixture of anticipation, curiosity, and a hint of fear at what lay ahead.

McGonagall turned to face the four of them after adjusting a complex new series of locks, latches, and dials on the front door. "Grimmauld Place is ready to receive you and your fellow students, but you four are all to wait together in the main common area until everybody arrives," she announced, sniffing. "And we shall have none of this… scrambling for rooms and beds until we are all gathered together. Is that understood?" she demanded sternly.

The four students answered in a quiet chorus.

She turned back to the door. "Very well, then. Enter," she commanded, as she gave the door a final tap. The great wooden slab swung open with a soft creak. Before stepping inside, the Headmistress gingerly levitated after her a large, flat object swathed in black fabric. It was easily the size of a window or a door, and Hermione found herself wondering what it was as she followed the professor within.

But the dramatic changes in the familiar interior soon pushed away all thoughts of the mysterious object. The house that she remembered from fifth year was largely gone, refaced beneath a heavy scouring charm that had finally taken out the smell of rot and mildew. It had also damaged many of the fine old fabrics and wooden panels in the building, but with the passing of the last Black male, Hermione supposed that Kreacher would be the only being to protest.

Still, scratched wood aside, it wasn't a bad change, the brunette decided. And things certainly were going to be much more pleasant without the pervasive stench of neglect…

Ginny walked a little closer to Hermione as the four of them followed McGonagall down the dimly lit, windowless hall. Flitwick had arranged for the youngest Weasley to leave with McGonagall and the trio, saving the Charms professor a risky trip. The arrangement suited the four of them well, and Hermione found herself grateful for the girl's company – and not for the first time, either.

McGonagall's slight heels clicked sharply against the stone flags and they walked in silence down the corridor. The house was familiar, yes, but that did not dampen the feeling of awe that the ancient, once-lavish construct inspired. The dark wooden paneling was scratched up now, but that only made it more forbidding; the old plush carpets were worn, and that only added to the old house's air of a distant, hostile kind of luxury. The wall sconces flared and sputtered, and that was also a feeling – the memory of fear.

At last the Headmistress stopped, in front of yet another set of heavy oaken doors. Gently, she floated her large parcel to beside her, and then turned to face her students.

"This room was once the main parlor of the Black House," she explained rather sternly, "and is to be treated with respect at all times. Because there are only to be fourteen of you in all, there will be only one common room: this one is it." She gave them a long, warning look. "And there will be no mischief-making in here," she admonished firmly, staring straight at Ron and Ginny.

The siblings gulped guiltily and Hermione watched in amusement as two pairs of ears reddened.

McGonagall abruptly turned and waved her wand once, pointing at the large, flat object. She floated it, still covered, towards the two doors, and brought it to a rest directly between them. Hermione caught a whispered "firmus fixti," and then the object hung by itself two feet from the ground, secure in its odd position between the doors, still and unmoving.

McGonagall flicked her wand once more, and the friends looked on in amazement as the old wood literally grew together before their very eyes, until finally no crack between the two doors could be seen. Indeed, the doors themselves seemed to have also fused into the paneled walls.

The professor drew back a bit and surveyed her work in satisfaction, then raised her wand a last time, mouth tightening slightly in concentration. "Para ianua," she exclaimed, the command clear and ringing.

But the stream of mauve light that flowed from her wandtip was lazy nevertheless, circling once around the black object and disappearing into the wood. Hermione suspected that the spell itself may have been sentient, hence its slow, self-satisfied pace; even McGonagall at her most imposing could not make it go faster than it 'wanted' to.

Sentient magic. The thought gave her the shivers.

McGonagall watched as the wood around the black object glowed briefly before dimming back to normal. She turned around again.

"This entry will now work like the portrait holes at Hogwarts," she announced. "Your password will change every four days. Currently, it is "Saint George of Cappadocia."

So that's what it was, Hermione realized, mind racing. A portrait. And an important one, judging by how carefully McGonagall had handled it. A trustworthy one. And tremendously powerful, too, to be allowed to guard the entrance to the students' quarters quite alone, without any charms placed on it besides the hanging, the sealing, and the hole-making.

It was of a size and shape that she had seen in only one other place – back in Dumbledore's office, in Hogwarts, when she had been called there for a prefect's briefing. Hermione was reminded strongly of the matching portraits she'd seen then on the walls, each of a past Head of Hogwarts…

Her hand shot up into the air. "Excuse me, professor," she asked intently. "When will we get to know which portrait is guarding our door?"

McGonagall gave a faint smile and inclined her head. "Now," she responded simply, and pulled back the heavy black fabric.

And there, with a peaceful smile and merrily twinkling eyes, was Albus Dumbledore.

-x-

Half an hour later, Hermione found the common room filled with people. Professor Sprout had arrived ten minutes after McGonagall, with Neville, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and a sixth-year boy named Monty Brocklehurst. Mandy had come with them as well, explaining that she was actually chosen by Flitwick - but again the Charms master had opted out of a tricky pick-up, and she had come with her little brother Monty's group instead.

The next batch of arrivals was something of a surprise. When the portrait hole opened again, it revealed none other than a tall, tawny-golden centaur with a shock of white-blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

All around the room, Hermione saw mouths drop open in surprise. Harry, however, immediately leaped up. "Firenze," he exclaimed happily, ever-present Lucky Lolly sticking out of his mouth. "You're teaching here?"

The blond centaur smiled slightly as he carefully picked his way into the Common Room, over the portrait hole's edge. "McGonagall thought that I might be of use," he replied. "…It was very kind of her, I don't have too many other options open without Hogwarts," he said quietly.

Hermione watched closely as Harry's smile wilted by a few degrees. She noticed that he didn't perk back up. Not when Ginny offered him a chocolate frog, not when Neville came by with Trevor to chat, not even when Ron let his best friend win at Wizard's Chess…

But the new arrivals didn't leave her with too much time to dwell on things. Firenze had brought two more Gryffindors with him, Seamus and Parvati. As the boys grouped together around Ron's wizard chess set (he was now playing Justin), the girls peppered the pretty Indian girl with questions. Where was her twin? – sent off to Rowanoak Academy of Modern Wizardry in America; England was no longer very safe but her parents somehow believed in the overseas Land of National Security. How did they manage to convince their parents to send them to school again? - whines, complaints, and Padma's dropping of one too many plates. Where did she get that gorgeous new skirt? – Metra Ruocco's, Sastre, off in a wizarding corner of Barcelona.

Another few minutes later, Professor Flitwick arrived at last, bringing with him a pretty sixth-year whom Hermione didn't recognize. Ginny seemed delighted to introduce Renee Johnston-Hua, however, and Hermione was surprised to discover the girl was a Hufflepuff.

She decided that it was something about the clothes. Hufflepuff clothes weren't supposed to be fashionable, she decided. Or… revealing, for that matter. Still, the youngest Weasley liked her well enough, and Hermione wasn't complaining. It could've been worse, she supposed. Imagine if… say, Pansy Parkinson were to appear. It would be so much worse.

The only professor yet to arrive was Slughorn. Ron had hoped that the old, sedentary Potions Master would not show up, but Hermione knew better. As far as McGonagall was concerned, the old man was "on their side."

Yes, Slughorn was a Slytherin, but Harry'd said that the teacher had quite favored his mother, a Muggleborn Head Girl and a Gryffindor. Slughorn, Hermione had decided during the summer, was opportunistic and supremely manipulative in his backstage puppeteering, but he was not a bad sort of fellow. He was the kind of man, she thought, who would've balked at using the Avada.

There were not many Slytherins she would've said that about… Slughorn, a little second-year brunette named Jamie, Millicent Bulstrode, maybe Pansy Parkinson, and possibly Blaise Zabini. In Hermione's book, it was a sizeable compliment to the other side.

Not again, Hermione, she chastised herself suddenly. No, this wouldn't do at all – all this talk of The Other Side and Their Kind and Them, as if being a Gryffindor made you holy and being Slytherin condemned you to the darkest rings of Hell. She was realistic enough to know that yes, many Slytherins did turn out to be what Ron called "bad eggs." And she was factual enough to admit that yes, most Dark Wizards were indeed from Slytherin.

But her time spent with books – especially histories - was not for nothing, and Hermione had picked up a strong sense of… social righteousness, she supposed, along the way. There was a feeling that she could see something in the downtrodden that others could not. Elves, goblins… and now it was the Slytherins.

She almost laughed at the thought – Slytherins, the downtrodden! The girls chattering near her missed the wry smile, hidden behind an outspread copy of The Daily Prophet. Hermione hadn't had the time to read it that morning, busy as she was with last-minute repacking. Now, in the lazy pre-lunch haze, she browsed leisurely through.

Really, though, Hermione thought to herself. It was undeniable – being a Slytherin brought a stigma with it. While it was true that pricks like Malfoy wanted desperately to be in that house, it was also true that the moment a boy or girl was sorted into it, relations with most other houses, especially with Gryffindor, would be immediately cut off. Usually, it was by the non-Slytherin party. Through the years, Hermione had witnessed more than one fledgling Hogwarts Express friendship be quickly broken off after one of the acquaintances was sorted into the hated house.

And that was true, too – Slytherins were hated. Nobody liked them except for themselves. During the latter half of her sixth year, Hermione began to realize that the students in green acted cruel, snide and snobbish because that was the only way they had to maintain their precarious sense of superiority…

It was a vicious cycle, Hermione thought. Just like with the old British poorhouses, the blacks in America, the goblins and the giants and the elves. And if there was one thing Hermione Granger was sure about in the unsteady sands of the present, she was sure that she hated vicious cycles.

She hmphed to herself and began to scan the pages of the Prophet again. Private Records of Famous Arithmancer Wenlock Discovered, Muggles Demand Representation in the Ministry of Magic, New Sneaking Charm Patented, Parkinson Daughter Disowned, Lefaire Launches Spring Cosmetics Li -

Hermione stopped and looked back at the last headline.

"Parkinson Daughter Disowned," she read softly to herself again, blinking once in disbelief. There was a photo of a stern-looking woman who bore a strong resemblance to Pansy at the side. "by Rita Skeeter…"

She adjusted the page to bring the article closer, and read aloud to herself.

"Chulmington, Devon – This sleepy manor town in the Southwest was torn by a family feud more than a month ago, resulting in the permanent expulsion of the teenaged daughter from one of Britain's oldest and most respected families.

"Miss Pansy Parkinson, 17, was briefly glimpsed on the night of July 27th at the front doors of the Parkinson mansion, carrying a small valise with a gold dress slung over one arm. Says her widowed mother Mrs. Priscilla Parkinson, nee Caslyn:

"'Pansy was incredibly out-of-line that night. She behaved in a way completely contrary to the expectations of her lineage… She is no longer welcome in this house, or in the homes of any of our associates… it is regrettable, but she persisted in acting in a headstrong, irresponsible way. I had no choice.'

"As it turned out, Miss Parkinson was disowned for breaking off a long-planned engagement to the only heir of another prominent wizarding family, Mr. Draco Malfoy. The two had been classmates and good friends at Hogwarts, inside sources said, and nobody is sure what first caused the rift between the them.

"Miss Parkinson's whereabouts are currently unknown. Meanwhile, her mother's decision sets a fitting example to families across the nation as they attempt to deal with their rebellious sons and daughters. According to Mrs. Parkinson, Pansy's own stubborn streak was encouraged by her late Headmaster, Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore, who died under questionable circumst-"

Hermione dropped the paper in disgust. Rita Skeeter… the brunette girl fairly seethed with anger. How dare that disgusting woman dare imply that Dumbledore had done any wrong in Pansy Parkinson, how dare she imply that he wasn't even murdered!

She suddenly realized that the group of girls gathered around her had all started listening at some point; they now sat wide-eyed with shock and attention. In the next second, they all fell to talking at once. Hermione looked from one face to another and found that she couldn't even begin to understand them. So she raised her newspaper, glared, and retreated behind it again.

Rita Skeeter, and Parkinson, too… Hermione furrowed her brow, perplexed. She'd always thought that Rita Skeeter was somehow connected with the upper echelons of wizarding society. The opinions that the foul woman expressed were usually shared by the old blueblood aristocracy; rarely did Skeeter pick out and humiliate a member of that class. And didn't she owe Malfoy some sort of favor, for the information passed to her in Fourth Year? Why would she reveal embarrassing secrets that Malfoy would doubtlessly want to suppress?

Hermione found herself with too many questions, and little hope of even a single answer. One thing, however, was for sure – now that Parkinson was disowned, there was no way that the blonde could continue living her old life. The Death Eaters – the Parkinson "associates" mentioned – would surely spurn her. After all, she'd rejected both tradition and the hand of the most promising up-and-coming follower of Voldemort. Why would Pansy do such a thing? Wasn't she as Muggle-hating as the next Slytherin?

No – next Death Eater, Hermione corrected herself. Because Slughorn was a Slytherin, but didn't really hate Muggles at all…

As Hermione's mind grappled with those questions, another part of her simply wondered what exactly had come between Parkinson and Malfoy. The two had always seemed destined since birth. They had been good friends since first year and were well-matched in everything that mattered to their kind: houses, money, opinions, manners – or lack thereof.

It must have been something momentous, the clever brunette decided. Perhaps it had something to do with… Well, what were the recent developments? Dumbledore's killing. The flight from Hogwarts. Malfoy's probable summer involvement with the Death Eaters.

Hermione blinked. That couldn't be, she thought quickly. It couldn't.

Everything seemed to point at Pansy having… having some sort of a break with the Death Eaters, but that just wasn't possible. Was it?

But Hermione never got a chance to carry that line of thought further. For just that moment, the portrait hole swung open for the last time, and the teachers all stood up from the table they'd gathered around to greet Slughorn and commence with the settling-in at last.

The old Potions Master arrived in a rather splendid grey traveling-suit, puffing slightly and wiping his bald pate with an elegant silk handkerchief of green after tumbling through the rectangular portrait hole. For the first time, Hermione noticed that the portrait was double-sided. Dumbledore beamed down at them genially from the outside, and the inside as well. For some reason, the brunette felt something comforting wash over her. She was reminded of relief.

"Well, well," Slughorn nodded, smiling jovially, his enormous moustache groomed carefully upwards. "Well. I see that I am the last to arrive; my very humblest apologies to you, my dears," he said to the room at large. As he stepped aside, he gestured at the open portrait hole. "My Slytherins are coming just this moment; Blaise wanted to inspect the sconce lights on the stairs," he explained, still beaming.

As the professor finished speaking, Blaise Zabini himself stepped elegantly in. The tall Italian straightened, took in his surroundings carefully, blinked once, and then smirked slightly, sweeping a graceful bow to the room at large. The students watched silently as he made his way over to the cluster of boys, looking self-assured and apparently finding nothing out of the ordinary in his new companions.

"Potter, Longbottom, Finch-Fletchley," he said calmly, nodding at each and extending his hand. "We've met?"

There was a brief pause.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry took Zabini's hand and shook it, looking shaken up himself. All traces of his good mood were gone now, Hermione noticed.

Zabini, however, seemed the very soul of charm, all fleeting smiles and polite inquiries and not a hint of "Slytherin-bastardness." He didn't even flinch when Ron spluttered angrily all over his hand.

It was an act, Hermione knew, but she found herself admiring the Slytherin's adaptability all the same.

When she next turned back to the portrait hole, Hermione found a blonde Slytherin already inside, holding on tightly to the handle of her suitcase with a perfectly blank face. The brunette looked over at the shell-shocked group of girls next to her and realized that they all were thinking the same thing – so that's where Pansy got to after she was disowned. Here.

There was a long, awkward silence, until Slughorn stepped in, levitated Pansy's luggage to the pile in the corner, and gestured her towards the gaggle of staring girls. The blonde raised her chin slightly, eyes glinting, and wordlessly complied. Nobody greeted her.

They all waited for a few more minutes, the boys talking quietly in stiff, awkward tones, the girls locked in stony silence. Over at the teachers' table, Professor McGonagall looked as though her eyes were going to fall out of her head with Pansy's unexpected arrival.

The Headmistress was currently fighting to keep her angry suspicions under control. She resigned herself to shooting razor-edged glares at Slughorn for the time being, glares which he studiously and skillfully avoided.

I specifically said trustworthy, McGonagall was shouting in her brain. Trustworthy. Non-inflammatory. And you – you give me this!

But the Headmistress should have saved her frustration to use elsewhere than on Pansy Parkinson's selection. Because the next head that appeared through the portrait hole belonged to another blond - a pale one, the face below seeming to bear a permanent sneer.

McGonagall actually stood up from the table, seized by a furious shock, as she realized that Slughorn's last choice was none other than Draco Malfoy.

After a glance at the Headmistress, Ron jumped up from his seat at the chess board and prepared to rush at the blond boy. He was already halfway across the room before Harry and Blaise managed to grab his arms and hold him back.

"Harry, what do you think you're doing!" hollered the furious redhead, twisting in their grasp. "And let me go, you Slytherin filth," the Weasley shot at the other boy. "Why don't you go and consort with your slimy little friends, you – "

Harry muffled Ron quickly with an arm just as Blaise cast a silencing charm on the redhead. Harry nodded a frigid thanks as Ron finally stood still, seething wordlessly at the unperturbed blond.

Watching in apprehension, Hermione breathed out in relief as order seemed to return to the room. Nobody knew how to act, but at least Ron wasn't going berserk anymore, she thought. Thank Merlin for Harry and small blessings.

The had all followed the news with bated breath as somehow, the Draco Malfoy had managed to escape prosecution following Dumbledore's death and his flight from the school. Hermione supposed that he'd inherited his father's knack for manipulation… not to mention all of the legendary Malfoy fortune, as well.

He hadn't been heard from for a few weeks. But after June, his case had been cleared, and there was no need for him to stay "in hiding." The Witch Weekly was again filled with accounts of the Malfoy balls, the Malfoy parties, the Malfoy opinions and politics.

In July, Hermione had looked on in vague disgust as Malfoy burnished his public image by donating an unprecedented two and half million galleons to the Ministry of Magic "to aid the more disadvantaged members of wizarding society." She hadn't failed to notice the sudden appearance of more lavish dress on subsequent photos of Ministry officials, and it had taken all her self-control to not explode at the Weasleys when Arthur drove proudly home one day in a brand new Ministry car that his superiors had passed down to him, to use as his own.

Indirect corruption was the worst form of corruption, thought Hermione, angry even now. Because it was pervasive, it was quiet, and it seemed so innocuous and mild…

She turned her gaze back to the blond who leaned against the wall by the portrait hole. Malfoy acted as though nothing had happened at all, and was now surveying his new surroundings with an air of contemptuous nonchalance. But although Ron was growing more subdued, the Headmistress was just getting started. She stalked over to Slughorn, who visibly cringed.

"My dear Minerva – calm down now, I can explain – yes, I have a very good reason for trusting the boy, if only you'll listen! Would you just step outside for a moment now," he said quickly, waving her out of the room. "Excuse us," he muttered hurriedly to those inside, and disappeared after her.

The room fell silent as the students stared at Draco, and Draco stared coolly back.

"Malfoy," said Blaise Zabini at last, from the other side of Ron. One end of his mouth lifted in a small smirk. "I advise you to get your stony arse away from the wall before you freeze into a statue," he drawled lazily, twirling the wand he'd just withdrawn. The boys around him stiffened; it was an invitation for a near-murderer to join them – and it came from one who wasn't really their own, not yet.

Draco's glance swept the boys. He looked up. "Sorry, Zabini." The ghost of a smirk appeared on his face. "Unlike you, I don't lower my standards…"

He ambled slowly over to the farthest end of the pentagonal room, drawing up a chair and sitting down alone. He stared at the ceiling as Ron struggled furiously to break free again.

-

Before the furious Headmistress could open her mouth, Slughorn cast a quick Silencing Charm on her and accioed her wand.

"Minerva, listen!" His voice was, for once, completely serious. "You cannot expel the boy and drive him out. You can't. He's absolutely necessary to us, and if you'll only give him a three-second chance you'll see that we are every bit as necessary to him! Put him on probation, if you must, but at least see for yourself!"

Silenced and wandless, the Headmistress looked ready to kill.

"Minerva, he's right," came a mild, unexpected voice from the door. They looked over to see Dumbledore's portrait-self smiling whimsically, templing his fingers on top of the painting's desk. "Horace is not a bad judge of character, though with a few slip-ups - " his gaze grew distant and Slughorn thought guiltily of the tall, Slytherin Head Boy who'd asked about horcruxes, " – but slip-ups are never the norm. Minerva, these are hard times… but do not forget to trust and respect," he admonished gently. "You may blame Draco Malfoy for my death, but the greatest asset to our side is its belief in the possibility of goodness – in everyone, Malfoy or Millerton, Gryffindor or Slytherin, Death Eater or not." He paused. "After all, that is all we have that makes us more than Voldemort and his hordes," he murmured, peering shrewdly down through half-moon glasses.

Slughorn gave a small sigh of relief at the interruption. At a nod from the portrait, he removed the Silencing Charm, handing the wand back to McGonagall, who looked only slightly less manic than before.

Still staring at the portrait, the Headmistress spluttered in disbelief.

"Well, I… I never – ! Albus, you – why, you died because of your misplaced trusts and – " She stopped suddenly, looking chagrined at what she'd just said.

"…My apologies, Albus," she muttered softly.

"No no, Minerva, that's quite all right," the old Headmaster reassured her benignly. "I can understand your frustration… even your mistrust of my judgment," he said, winking, "but please do trust me this time."

Minerva looked up at the portrait, whose eyes were currently twinkling at the foolishness of his own death. Only Albus could ever do that, she thought wearily to herself. Die because of years and years of misplaced trust… and laugh about it.

She sighed. "All right," McGonagall acquiesced at last, with no idea why she had just agreed to this piece of utter insanity.

"Oh, good," cut in Slughorn quickly, rubbing his hands together nervously. "You see, Minerva… Draco Malfoy is also our… sole sponsor."

"There were no other takers," he explained, avoiding her glare. "I was lucky that Pansy even thought of him to begin with…"

Slughorn gulped as McGonagall fixed him with a long stare, one which he accidentally met. Her sharp blue eyes were challenging, as if testing the will of Slughorn's watery blue.

And then, slowly, grudgingly, she looked away and gave a single nod.

"Lovely, then," came Dumbledore's voice from the portrait. The white-haired wizard beamed brightly at both of them, and then leaned back in his chair, promptly returning to sleep.

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AN:

I'm done! Yay! My god, that was another monster of a chapter… hope you're all satisfied. I don't like this one as much as the last, for some reason. Not as much character analysis, I guess… but don't worry, that comes in the next one.

I'm sorry to say that I'll be changing the update schedule to once every two weeks, although I encourage you all to check back often as I'm sure that I'll be updating early often. But school starts in a few weeks, and there's SO MUCH STUFF TO DO before senior year begins… I'm already running about five hours of sleep a day as is, and I don't want to be dead, for obvious reasons.

Thank you all for sticking with me! And yes, things start happening soon. I'm sooooo excited:) And – look! Draco and Hermione are officially in the same universe now! Isn't that amazing? ;)

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HUGE round of applause for my fantastic reviewers (that's you guys!):

Fiona Goldfeet, Sunny June 46, My-Chemical-Romance-Fan, Vashka, the girl trapped in a dream, Silverbunnie, Zekintha, Flor De La Cereza, RidiculousnessMakesTheWorldGoRound, Rai, Philyra912, dizzydragon, tinydancer69, Sayaku-chan, Tiarwen, miksel, yingnyang, ILoveMyDraco, Dree, Arctic Demon, Lisa, Draco's-Cutie-Aaliyah, Lucky, AnniePotter2004, LJ924, potts, stwabewy, luna, Commander Phoenix, Artemis, The Wild Woman, shadowcat15, SimplyChristine, Sever13, 1lorett, musicalbballgall, and Whitty.

Honestly, I say I'm writing Haven to get the plotbunny off my back… But on any regular story, I would've had no trouble stopping by now. I have a terrible track record of not completing my fics. You see, I know what happens in the story already… But no matter what, I'm definitely going to go through to the end on this one – and that's totally because of all of you. So yes – now that we're past the fifth chapter? This story is all for you guys, my wonderful, wonderful reviewers! ;)

Special thanks to:

dizzydragon, Philyra, Arctic Demon, Draco's-Cutie-Aaliyah, AnniePotter2004, and 1lorett for their awesome, heart-warming, so-helpful book-length reviews;

my lovely betas, Zekintha, dizzydragon, and ILoveMyDraco for being such wonderfully constructive, wise, helpful betas and just plain old putting up with me (I've got to be the worst beta-recipient this side of the Appalachians! I cringe.);

and Sunny June 46, Philyra912, and Vashka – for their wonderful, generous, enthusiastic fic-reccing. Not only are these three my loudest proponents, they are also all on my all-time favorite authors list. Everyone, go read their stuff!

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Notes on Chapters 5 and 6

…on Snape's loyalties.

ILoveMyDraco compared Snape to "Switzerland on steroids." I must say, this is a really accurate analogy. :D I tried really hard to make him… wavery, I guess. Because that's how I see him – not completely one or the other, but instead, very torn, very conflicted, often confused. To discover which side he's on now, reread the last section of Ch 5 carefully… that one drops some hints. Warning, though: he is mercurial, and don't count on him being cast in black-and-white.

…on Snape/Lily.

The funny thing about Ch 5 is this: I'm really not a Snape-Lily shipper. I see it being unrequited and one-sided, with Lily being just nice and Snape being extremely conflicted: it's not exactly love. I don't think he ever does anything drastic for her (unless you count killing her as drastic); Snape's just not that kind of guy. He gets shoved into the tragic-hero role because he's shoveable. Yet although I don't see Lily loving/whatevering Snape back, I find Young Severus (and Old Severus, too) to be a very sympathetic character. Snape's definitely one of my favorite people from all of Harry Potter…

…on James/Lily.

Ironically, although I do ship James/Lily (it's what got me started on fic in the first place!), I find James to be a far less sympathetic character than Snape. Simply put, he's a bully and a jerk and an egotistical jock. However, there's something redeeming in him – perhaps it's the incorrigible idealism, the belief that everything can work out if you just try hard enough, perhaps the plain old Gryffie bravery? – that makes me love the pairing. I guess you could say that I ship both Snape/Lily and James/Lily at once… but James always wins in the end, for whatever reason. And yes, I love how unfair it is. That's what makes it great to read and great to write.

…on teenage girls' fantasies.

Several people commented on how Haven "wasn't just another teenage girl's fantasy." I am very flattered, and also very amused – because, you see, I am definitely a teenage girl, and Havenverse (as a friend has put it), while tempting, does indeed exist completely in my head. o.0

Don't worry, I know what you mean. ;) I just like pulling phrases out and playing with them… it's just fun, doncha know XD

…on personal responses.

1lorett has assured me that personal responses to reviews are indeed legal in the world of Thanks, 1lorett! However, I found out about this only after I deleted all of the responses… Sorry, guys. (sigh)

…on Blaise vs. Draco.

I'm pretty sure that some people are going to have quibbles with my interpretation of Blaise. I'm quite aware that trieste-Blaise is more like one of the many fandom-Dracos than anything else. However, I ask that you give me time – about another chapter or so – and I'll promise that all this will make sense, from Blaise's debonair charm and supreme adaptability, to Draco's standoffishness.

…on Harry.

Harry is on a mild but steady dosage of Felix Felicis, and is already showing signs of wear. Look carefully, in this chapter and also the next few!

…on lurkers, Satan, and Voldy.

I repeat: Lurkers are evil. Eeeevvviillll like weevils. Horrible furnunculus-spawning fur-sprouting slug-vomiting SPAWN OF SATAN. Or of Voldy, as the case may be. You take your pick.

…Personally, I think being the Spawn of Voldy would be much, much grosser. I mean, who'd your mother be? Nagini? gross.

…on Horcruxes.

Yes. They figure hugely in this story. That's all for now.

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Fic Rec of the Update:

I said I wouldn't rec fics with big followings. Nevertheless, I will rec them anyway, out of sheer enjoyment and total gratitude. They are sorted by niche/interest group, but I STRONGLY recommend that you give them all a try!

Niche: beautifully, gorgeously written epic. Great plotline, clever dialogue, perfect personality quirks.

-Linked, by Philyra912

Niche:fall-out-of-seat flippant humor in a light, breezy, incredibly realistic dialogue/mail format. Very fresh, very accurate, great characterizations!

-Customer Service, by Sunny June 46

Niche: spectacular situational humor, a longish fic but one that you can finish in one night, great side pairing.

-Misguided Sympathy, by Vashka.

All three authors are linked from my favorite authors page.

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One last word:

REVIEW!

XD