It had been a week since Harry had visited with Hermione, and their plan had yet to take action. He had not had any stories about himself leaked, and nor had he met the mysterious Pennom. He was almost itching to begin, even if beginning meant having his face plastered all over the papers and losing any scraps of privacy he had managed to obtain.

On the bright side, however, he had finished carving another piece. It was a small coffee table, and he had once again he had incorporated the image of trees into the work. There was one leg for the table—a thick trunk carved around the sides to look like bark. Then, he had taken a thick slab of wood from an even wider trunk and used that as the table top. He had varnished and polished it, and towards the end of the process, he had used magic to replace some of the rings in the wood with green glass.

He wouldn't be selling it in a muggle shop, of course. The magical crafting made it something that wizards would be more interested in buying. He didn't know where he would sell it, though; it was too rugged to fit in most wizarding homes, and it wasn't eclectic enough to fit in with the rest.

The green reminded him of the Slytherins at Hogwarts. He didn't know who their new head of house was, or even what kind of furniture they'd like, but he thought it would be worth a try. He would send it to them as a gift of sorts. A peace treaty. He remembered hearing about all the new prejudice that was being held up against the house. Of course, people had always thought Slytherins were sly and wicked, but now, people were charging them as Death Eaters just for the House they had been sorted into.

It was a bit like the whole thing about persecuting gays because they were born that way. In the same way, Slytherins couldn't help being Slytherin. So, he thought he would jump his plan into action by sending the table to the Head of House. Perhaps he was a little naive and hopeful, but he had the image of Inter-House cooperation, just like he had the image of inter, er, sexuality cooperation.

And the papers would eat it up if they caught word of this, especially.

He cast a lightening charm on it (shrinking would ruin the wood and glass work), and boxed the thing. He decided it was best to send it with a note, just in case the Head of Slytherin was wondering why Harry Potter would be sending them a gift.

For the Head of Slytherin House:

I carved this table with Slytherins in mind. I could think of no other place to send it, so I'm giving it as a gift to you. Take it as an apology for all my own wrong-doings against your House, along with all the unfair things I have thought or said. It was wrong of me to think that all Slytherins are sly or cruel or vindictive, and I should hope that such false assumptions will one day be laid to rest.

There is more to your House than just Dark, just as there is more to Gryffindor than just Light (and of course, these sets of things are not mutually exclusive). If you ever have any issues with House cooperation, or perhaps false accusations of serving the Dark Lord, feel free to contact me, and I will do what I can to help.

Yours truly,

Harry Potter

He attached the letter and took it to the Post Office in Diagon Alley without a care in the world as to who saw him. He hadn't even worn any glamours. He didn't know quite what had gotten into him, but the giddiness felt lovely.

Once that was done, he had apparated to the orphanage. It was a house near the ocean, where the beach was rocky and the waves were wild. There was rarely a sunny day to be heard of there, but the house was always warm, the matron always cheery, and the children were (for the most part) happy.

If there was any mistreatment, any hidden abuse, or any harm done to a single child there, Harry would snuff it out and have the responsible culprit removed. He had done it before, and he would do it again. He didn't like to think of the details of that case, but as soon as he had found hidden bruises on several of the children, he used his celebrity powers and called in the Ministry. The caretaker at the orphanage at the time was put on trial and sent to Azkaban in a manner of months.

Contrary to Dumbledore's insistence that Harry stay with the Dursleys, the wizarding world at large did not stand for the presence of child abusers. And with that kind of zero tolerance policy, Harry was fairly confident the children were safe.

He made his way up the humble dirt pathway to the house, and stood on it's large patio to knock. He could hear various bells and whistles from the inside, and soon the door was swung open. An army of children stood at the door waiting for him. Behind them, Madam Humpop stood with a matronly smile on her face, adorned in her usual magenta robes. She was young, probably in her mid thirties, and she wore her raven-colored hair in a large bun.

"Harry, darling! We've all been waiting for you to come and visit. It's been nearly a week, you know." She smiled brightly, and scooped up the shortest child so he could have a view of Harry, too. It was Sel, a small muggleborn child of five years whose parents had been some of Voldemort's victims in the war. Even if he hadn't already shown signs of magical abilities, that would have been enough for the orphanage to want to take him in.

"Oh, I know. A week is too long, isn't it?" Harry asked, entering the foyer and closing the door behind him. He knelt down to be face-to-face with those he was visiting. Directly in front of him was Sylvia, a seven year old with feathery blond hair and dark gray eyes. She was staring at Harry with awe, and then she broke out giggling. Harry smiled at her, and she turned around and ran to hide behind the Madam. She really was too shy.

Then Seth, who was four and had just come to the orphanage a few months ago after his muggle parents refused to take care of him, ran at Harry and hung on his neck. Harry wrapped his arms around him and stood up, holding him and stroking his bright red hair.

"Hey, there. Did you miss me, Sethers?" he asked, hefting the little guy up so he could see his face. Seth nodded earnestly. "We made you pants." He announced, his little face intense and eager.

"Pants?" Harry asked them. Ebele, a half-blood four-year-old with dark brown skin and bouncing ebony curls, shook her head. "We drew you some pants. Come and look!" She cried, and the rest of them scampered after her. Harry raised an eyebrow at Madam Humpop, who didn't offer him any help. Harry sighed, and followed after him as quickly as he could with Seth trying to climb up onto his shoulders.

He was led into the art room, where there were canvases covered in finger paint and lumos charms that made the room look to be lit by early morning sunlight. The walls were painted a light green, and in the center of the room was a large canvas that the rest of the kids were huddled around. Harry placed Seth gently on the floor and went to investigate.

The painting was, evidently, of pants. It was also finger paint, and had appeared to be of a group effort. The "pants" were primarily orange, with splotches of green and red and pink all over them.

Harry make a fake gasp and theatrically crumpled to the floor, which caused some of them to laugh and others to look nervous. Harry sat up and smiled as brightly as possible. "Oh, they're beautiful! Absolutely beautiful! You should submit this to Luna Lovegood!" He cried. The Lovegood reference was lost on all but the ten year old Kara and the eleven year old Tanner, who looked at Harry like he was crazy.

"Who's Luna Lovegood?" Phillip, eight years old, squeaked. "She makes beautiful clothes and sells them, of course!" Harry explained. Several of the kids began chattering eagerly. Melanie, who was seven and spent her time doodling cats and telling stories about them, took Harry's hand and said solemnly, "Then we need to find her and have her make these pants."

Several other children nodded in agreement. "If Harry likes them, we have to make them so he can wear them!" Seth cried eagerly, and then ran out of the room. Several others followed him, until only Kara and Tanner and Sel in Madam's arm remained.

"You're stupid sometimes, Harry." Tanner laughed. "Now you'll actually have to wear them." Kara added, shaking her head. Harry flushed red, knowing that they were right. He would probably end up owling Luna and asking her to make the pants, just because he knew it would thrill the kids.

He got up and stumbled after the kids, determined to keep up last week's promise of eating whatever Seth and his friends cooked for him. Seth had taken an especial liking to Harry, and ever since he had arrived at the orphanage, he had made everything a much more interactive experience. Harry felt like he shared something with the little boy, growing up in an unwanting muggle home himself.

He would do anything for them, all of them, and they knew it. They were waiting for him in the kitchen. Seth and Ebele were arguing over what they should make, and Phillip was helping Melanie read the titles of the cookbooks. Sylvia was struggling to reach the flour jar on the counter.

"Do you need any help?" Harry asked them, giving Sylvia a boost. She squeaked in surprise, and the rest of them gave him a resounding "no," so Harry let them be. "We're cooking for you, Harry!" Ebele reminded him. She gave Seth a playful shove when he protested that he was in charge, so he should do the talking, and Phillip interrupted with the reasoning that he was the oldest, so he should be in charge.

Harry took a seat at the table, which was one of the first tables he had made, and had given to the orphanage. There were several of his pieces in the orphanage, including a grandfather clock that was charmed to alert him if anyone in the building was in danger, no matter where he was. He had reasoned that so much of his work there, a piece of him would always be there for the kids.

He watched with a smile on his face as the kids scuttled around the kitchen, pulling out obscure ingredients and mixing them into bowls. He was sure he wouldn't be smiling as much once they had finished making their concoction, but for now he was happy to be around the kids.

After a few minutes, he felt queasy watching them find the absolute worst combinations to use. He had a feeling Seth and Ebele especially would be good at potions when they went to Hogwarts. However, he wasn't interested in watching them for much longer, so he conjured a piece of parchment and a quill so he could owl Luna about the pants. He would Replicate the painting and send that, too, just so she would make the exact pair for him.

Dear Luna,

How are you? I know we haven't spoken in months, but I'm assuming that you're doing well. I saw your name in the paper the other day… I'm glad to hear that you're one of the "famous members" of our queer little group.

I have a favor to remember the orphanage, don't you? Well, the children have designed me a pair of pants, and they insist that I find a way to wear them. Would you mind producing a pair for me? I will pay you in full, of course.

With thanks,

Harry P.

When he had written the letter and tucked it into his pocket, he was presented with a large glass of thick white sludge that smelled of flour, and a plate full of what looked like potions ingredients and leftovers from breakfast. He fought back a grimace, and ate at it with false gusto. They cheered him on, and Seth even tried some of the flour-drink (though the bugger actually liked it).

These tykes are lucky I love them so much.

It had been a week since Draco had responded to Granger's owl about writing articles about Potter. Of course, like the fool he apparently was, he had accepted eagerly, saying in not quite as many words that he would write whatever Potter wanted him to. He wasn't sure if he should have interpreted the lack of response as Granger thinking him pathetic for groveling or that she was suspicious of his motives after such an ardent response.

Despite his moping, however, he had managed to be productive. He had sold three dozen records (14 of them being Celestina Warbeck, sadly) and had put an ad in his paper for his shop, which had increased his business by almost twofold (that was only half a lie because of the almost). He had also done 16 hours of Healer training, but he still refused to admit that he was enjoying it less and less. It was suddenly unappealing compared to the idea of a career in journalism. Even if it was Potter-centric journalism. Because honestly, that wasn't anything new in his life.

The door to his shop opened, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw it was Granger. She met his gaze, and looked around the shop and it's cobalt blue walls and oak furnishings. "Nice shop," she said cooly as she walked past his brand-new shelves that were full of wizard punk rock, smiling and shaking her head. She turned around to face another shelf, and picked up an acoustic album, checking for it's price with care.

"Thank you, Granger." Draco replied, running a hand through his hair, and wondering why it was Granger coming to see him instead of Potter. Did Potter not want to see him? Was Granger was playing as his owl? Draco fought back a scowl, wondering what he had done to deserve Potter's aversion. Well, a lot of things...

Granger brought the album to his counter. "You should add some muggle music to your collection," she suggested, meeting his eye testily. Draco shrugged. "I've thought about it, but I'm not entirely sure they would work on the average wizard's record player." He replied, wondering if she was looking for any signs of the old, muggle-hating Malfoy. "I've charmed an old muggle record player to work without electricity to solve the problem, but it's still a prototype. Who knows; I might figure it out eventually, and make a fortune off of it."

Granger furrowed her brow and nodded, probably wondering what use Draco Malfoy of all people would have for a fortune. Instead of commenting, however, she asked a question.

"Why did Pennom interview me for his article?"

Draco frowned, wondering why she was asking. Perhaps she was suspicious of him? This was still Granger, after all, even if Draco himself had changed. "Because of your work with SPEW," he said, deliberately saying it as word and not the acronym. "I, or he, knew you cared about equal rights for the house elves, and of course you're familiar with the muggle wolrd, so I knew you would have something to say about gay rights. You always have something to say." Draco couldn't help but add the last bit.

Granger tilted her head, moving on to a different track. "You haven't said the word 'mudblood' once since after the trial. You even agreed with me and blamed pureblood stigmas for the LGBT wizards issue," she stated. "What changed, Draco?"

Draco shrugged. "I decided that I didn't need to act like a Death Eater. I didn't need to please my father anymore. I need to make up for what I did." He explained. He didn't know why he felt inclined to divulge this information to Granger of all people, but she was easy to talk to. And she could help land him the article (the fact that it was going to have him spend time with Potter was completely irrelevant, he assured himself).

"And why write as Pennom?" Granger pried.

"I needed a clean slate. No one will listen to Draco Malfoy." He scoffed, taking the record from her hands, and ignoring how much it hurt to admit those words to her. "Are you going to buy this?" he demanded, meeting her with a sharp glare. Granger ignored him, however, and met the stare with cool measure.

"So, you wouldn't consider telling The Prophet your identity?" she inquired, her piercing stare never ceasing. Draco then averted her gaze. Is this a test? He wasn't sure what the correct answer was, so he decided he would focus on giving her the honest one. Did he want to tell The Prophet who he was, though? He wanted to be respected, of course. But no one would respect Pennom if they knew that Pennom was actually him: Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater.

"If some miracle allowed me to do so by keeping my writing's credibility, then yes, I would consider it. I would like to be recognized for my writing." It would leave me much happier than carrying on with this whole Healer business. He didn't know if that was the answer Granger was expecting, but he had the feeling it was.

"I think that can be arranged." Granger smiled. Or was it a smirk? Why are all these Gryffindors suddenly smirking? Not that it mattered. He had said the right thing, hadn't he?

"How?" Draco demanded. The questions, "Why?" and "Would you still have me write for Potter?" remained unspoken. He fiddled with the record in his hands, spinning it around nervously. Another question arose: "Why would you want to help with that?" But he didn't ask that one aloud either.

"How? By using Harry, of course. If the Boy Who Lived endorses you, who can argue with him? We'll have someone else write that article, of course. We can't have you writing articles promoting yourself— as much as you may enjoy that." That hurt almost as much as the time she had hit his face all those years ago, though he wouldn't admit it. Did people really think he was so self centered?

Granger turned away for a moment, muttering under her breath. "No, no. We'll have to have another set of articles entirely to be published. Oh, Harry won't like this. But it will have to do. Perhaps I can contact someone from The Quibbler…"

"What other set of articles, Granger?" Draco demanded, feeling a mix of motions stirring in his stomach. He was awaiting for the one that would settle as dictated by Granger's response.

"About you and Harry, of course. We'll have to make it appear as though you're friends, and that Harry supports you, and so on and so forth."

"And why would we want that?"

"So you can change your image. So Adam Pennom can become Draco Malfoy."

"Why are you doing this, Granger?"

Granger frowned, as if she wasn't entirely sure. "Because you've changed. And it will help Harry with his plan if you write for him as Pennom. And it will help you if you don't have to hide as Pennom anymore."

Draco's eyes widened. Does someone really care? He couldn't believe that Granger was offering this olive branch, and an opportunity to work with Potter to boot. To clear his name. He almost choked.

"Thank you, Granger."

"Hermione," she corrected him.

"Of course. Hermione." He coughed a little, the friendliness feeling strange.

"I'll let Harry know where your shop is, and he'll come and talk to you tomorrow? I'm afraid I can't tell him it's you quite yet, because of the Vow, but he'll know soon enough. Just chat with him a bit then, I suppose, and explain the situation to him. I'll have spoken to him about it, too, of course. And I'm sure ideas for an article will come eventually if you do just talk with him. The article has to be something small, though, and not too much about Harry. We still want your signature Pennom critique, yeah?"

Draco nodded, absorbing the influx of information. "Of course. Thank you again, for everything." He stammered.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, I'm off to talk to Harry. Take care, Draco."

Draco watched her leave, realizing all at once that she hadn't bought the record, and she hadn't explained the exact nature of the articles about him or Potter, and that neither of those things mattered because tomorrow he was going to talk to Potter and he would be writing an article and that maybe he had just made some new friends.

He took a deep breath, and told himself to relax. He would keep the shop open for a few more hours, and then he'd go relax, cook some dinner, and work on the record player.

Hermione left Draco's shop, satisfied that she had not made a mistake in asking him to write the articles for Harry. She was curious, however, what Harry would think when he discovered that Pennom was Draco. He certainly seemed interested in the prospect of the mysterious writer last week... And that probably wouldn't change, she realized. Harry had seemed fairly infatuated with Malfoy all throughout their Hogwarts years, and in sixth year especially.

Repairing Draco's image would be easy, she realized, if Harry truly was fond of him. She smiled mischievously as she imagined the uproar if the two came out at the same time: Harry as gay and Draco as his reporter. Even better if she could somehow get the two together.

Oh, yes, it was a brilliant plan. She could make a break through in wizarding LGBT rights using Harry's name, clear Draco's name and establish a proper career for him, all the while curing both of them of their loneliness. She felt like some sort of mastermind, as she apparated to the building of The Prophet.

She entered the building, with high ceilings and flying envelopes and the smell of freshly printed paper. It would have been an altogether lovely experience, she decided, had she not realized that the woman at the reception dest was Padma Patil of all people. She fought a grimace, and walked up to the desk with all the dignity she could muster.

"I'm looking for Terry Boot's office, please?" She asked. Padma looked up and met Hermione's eye with a look of fear, but she cleared her throat. "Of course, Granger. Going to kiss another important person's ass, are we?" She spat, most likely forgetting that it was her job as a receptionist to be polite to incoming visitors. She was referring to Ron and Harry, of course- though it was really Padma who was doing the ass kissing. Hermione had made all her friends before they were famous. Padma ate the scraps.

Hermione only raised an eyebrow, and Padma flinched under her gaze. "Fourth level. Room 412."

She nodded in response, and made her way up to the fourth level. She found Terry's office with ease, and swung open the door. He was absorbed in his quill and pen, and looked up to see who had barged into the office, but gave her a big smile all the same.

"Hermione, darling! I wasn't expecting to see you here of all places. Have a seat; what can I help you with?" He asked, patting his desk. Terry was a wonderful fellow; he had always been very smart, and had been of a huge assistance in Dumbledore's Army. He would also be very useful now, considering he was in complete charge of the celebrity coverage in The Prophet.

"Hello, Terry. I was here to chat with you about that thing about no longer reporting on Harry Potter." She smiled her sweetest smile as he let her continue. "Things have... changed a little. I was wondering if you'd be willing to personally cover a few specific articles on him in the next few months." She explained.

Terry's face lit up. "Of course, Hermione! Any press we're allowed to do on Harry will do great for the newspaper, I'm sure. What do you want me to write about?" He asked, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment.

Hermione pursed her lips. This was where things got tricky. "Well, Terry, this first one won't be about Harry. I need you to publish an article about Draco Malfoy and his new record shop. And I need you to refrain from using the phrase 'Death Eater...' or anything else that could be negatively associated with him."

She could practically see the cogs and wheels in his head turning, as he wondered what her motives could be. "Okay, love. I don't know what you're planning, but I trust you. Do you have anything particular in mind?" He asked, jotting a few things down.

"I was thinking something like, Draco Malfoy seeks fresh start at Carkitt Market." She suggested. Terry frowned. "I guess we can work with that," he said. "I can send someone over to check out the shop soon, and I'll have the article ready whenever you want."

"Can you manage tomorrow?" Hermione asked.

Terry gave her a pained smile, but forcibly perked up. "I could add it in. Won't be front page news, though." He added.

"Of course not, thank you, Terry. Are we still on for dinner on Tuesday?" she asked. She had been seeing him regularly for the past four months, but they kept it quiet. She hadn't told Harry in the fear that he would connect it to the fact that he had dropped out of the papers as of late.

"I can't see why not. See you then, love." He stood up, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "And I'll be seeing more of you at work, too?"

Hermione smiled warmly, pulling away. "Oh, yes, definitely!"

She just loved how easily her plans fell into place.