Chapter 14: A Brief Study of Peacocks

Winter arrived with the first week of December, gusting in on winds that shrouded the world beneath a mantle of snow. Hogwarts, much to the delight of the student body, transformed into a fairytale castle – more than it already was, at least. Magical lights adorned the banisters and parapets, swaths of bristling ivy lined the winding halls, and multiple roaring hearths, decorated with mistletoe and stockings, created an atmosphere that was both cozy and festive. Even the faculty was affected: McGonagall kept letting students leave her classes early, Flitwick spent entire lessons demonstrating how to charm a teapot to sing carols, and Professor Snape, while still boasting his usual disgruntled disposition, didn't even deduct points from Neville when the hapless fourth-year melted his third cauldron for the year.

Life couldn't get any better, mused Harry. He had survived the first task. He had regained his friends. And now, from his seat at the window, he'd successfully secured an alluringly indecent view of Pansy Parkinson's legs, which were propped up on an adjacent chair in such a way that her school robes fell away, revealing a fair bit of creamy thigh. This was Harry's second rendezvous with the Slytherin witch (third, if one counted the initial encounter in the dungeons), and while their investigation into Hermione and Malfoy's behavior hadn't progressed much beyond speculation, he still found himself anticipating these little tete-a-tetes with a great dose of eagerness, as they permitted him the opportunity to ogle the comely pureblood. Covertly, of course.

"Potter, your staring rivals the subtlety of mating hippogriffs. I know my legs are divine, but please, do try and keep it in your pants, will you? It's cold outside: just might freeze off."

Okay, maybe not so covertly.

Thoroughly mortified, Harry jerked his eyes up just in time to glimpse the edge of Pansy's lips, curled in a smirk, before they disappeared behind the copy of The Prophet she was reading. The figures in the photographs – Minister Fudge and his cohorts, responding to a rapid series of questions at a press conference – pointed and laughed. Harry silently branded them all as traitors and glared.

Pansy observed his reaction with a high dose of amusement. "Not that I mind, of course. I mean, what else would I expect? Some intelligent conversation? A flattering compliment or two? Maybe even a case of Belgian truffles – which I adore, by the way? No." She sighed dramatically. "With Gryffindor boys, it's all the same: keep your expectations low so as to avoid disappointment. C'est la vie, as they say on the continent." She turned the page, dipping her head in a mocking display of self-pity at life's inequities.

Scowling at the unsubtle barb, Harry quickly snapped back with a sarcastic quip of his own. "Gryffindor boys? Known many, have you?"

Over the top of her newspaper, Pansy shot him a flat glare and decided to drop the theatrics. "Rude. But if you must know, I went out on a date with Cormac earlier in the year."

Harry, who'd been preparing to continue the argument, paused. This was news to him. Well, almost everything was, considering the complete and total isolation he'd lived in prior to the first task, but, for some reason, this particular piece of information struck a rather unpleasant chord in his chest. It took him a few moments to formulate a response and, when he did, he tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. Almost disinterested, even. "Oh," said Harry, making a show of checking his nails. "And how was it?"

"Terrible." Pansy shook her head in disgust. "McLaggen is a crossbreed between a peacock and an octopus." The topic was obviously irritating for her, and she buried her head back in the newspaper, pretending to be captivated by the article. She didn't see Harry smile, slyly.

"Peacock and an octopus?"

"Mhm. When he's not boasting about himself or his family, he's trying to–" Pansy broke off and made a grabby motion with her hand before returning to reading. "As I said: terrible."

"So why go out with him at all? Surely, you were aware of his tendencies…"

"Father insisted," Pansy sighed. "He's looking for…"

"...For?" Harry prompted, but Pansy merely shook her head. "It's not important." She turned the page again, obviously considering the subject closed, and then asked an unpleasant question of her own.

"What did Granger tell you about the dragons?"

Harry turned back to the window, his own sigh heavy on his lips as the events of the past two weeks flashed before his eyes. First, Hermione, approaching him with apologies the morning after her meeting with Malfoy. Then Hermione, again, practicing with him for hours and hours to ensure he'd survive the first task, because he'd have to face 'Dragons, Harry! Dragons!'. Finally, he recalled her tearful relief when he returned, triumphant and alive.

She'd seen so honest, remorseful. So eager to help. And yet…

"She lied," Harry said, the words like coal in his mouth. He looked down: far below, at the base of the tower, a group of students was tossing snowballs. Their carefree cries reached him all the way up here.

"What did she say?" prodded Pansy. Testing the mudblood had been her idea, and she was curious if it had yielded fruit. "How did she explain that she knew about the dragons in advance of the tournament?"

"Research. She claimed she read up on previous tournaments, cross-referenced all the first tasks, and discovered dangerous magical beasts to be a common element. Then she told me she went out into the Forbidden Forest and saw dragons."

"When, in reality, we know that that information came from Draco–"

"Via his father, I know," Harry cut her off curtly, as he recalled the moment in the dungeons when Hermione had thanked Malfoy for sharing the contents of his father's letter. It made the whole thing even worse: Hermione, who had returned to stand so staunchly by his side, had lied without even batting an eye.

Harry's despondency must have filtered through his tone, because he suddenly felt a hand on his back. He looked up in surprise, meeting Pansy's eyes just inches away from his. "The fact that she lied doesn't mean she doesn't care for you," she told him, in a voice that both surprisingly comforting and firm. "Down in Slytherin, we lie to each other all the time. And yet we stand by our allies if they need us. So, chin up! We have a secret to figure out, and we can't do that if you're sniffling."

"I'm not sniffling!" Harry protested, and then immediately scowled, realizing he'd fallen straight into the witch's trap. Basic logic dictated that one can't wallow in misery while arguing, and Harry was arguing. Visibly pleased with his reaction, Pansy shot the Gryffindor a triumphant grin and sat back down. Pure Slytherin, that girl was.

"So Granger's a very capable and convincing liar," Pansy concluded, collating this new information into her mental dossier. "And she has clandestine meetings with Draco in the dungeons. Say, you don't think somebody could be impersonating her? Polyjuice potion, maybe…"

Harry shook his head instantly. "No. The mannerisms, gestures, behavior – it's definitely Hermione. She's just much more cunning than I expected." Abruptly, he recalled the events of his first year at Hogwarts, when Hermione had lied to the faculty, set Snape's robes on fire, and petrified Neville, all while successfully maintaining the naive facade of a rule-abiding bookworm. After a few moments of contemplation, Harry voiced his conclusion in a firm tone. "She can be devious, actually. Very much so."

Pansy pierced him with a sharp gaze of her hazel eyes and then nodded. "Alright. So we'll have to be careful around her. You observe her behavior – but subtly, while I focus on Draco's. Keep looking at the map, too: if they set up another meeting, we need to be there. Agreed?"

The proposition sounded reasonable, and so Harry nodded, before returning to watch the snowball fight. The room fell into a companionable silence after that, dotted only by the periodic rustling of Pansy's newspaper.

"Say, Potter," she broke the quiet a couple minutes later. "You live with muggles, right?" The unexpected question made Harry blink in surprise. "Err, yeah." Glancing over at the Slytherin, he saw she was intently staring in his direction.

"They're not...actually dangerous, are they?"

The question was so unexpected and baffling that Harry had to spend several moments formulating a response. "I guess it depends?" he finally said. "Why are you asking?"

"You haven't been following the news?" Pansy began and then rolled her eyes. "Of course you haven't. Here. See for yourself." Neatly folding her newspaper, she flipped it around, displaying the front page, where the bolded title 'FRENCH FIASCO CONTINUES: MINISTRIES SCRAMBLE TO REASSURE POPULACE' had been plastered over the top.

"The Prophet," she declared, "is usually just a Ministry mouthpiece, but Skeeter is just eviscerating Fudge. And the picture she's painting isn't too pretty."

"What's this about again?"

"You need to get back in the game, Potter. It's about those idiots who got caught by muggles playing Quidditch in France! They were observed by an entire group, and the authorities didn't react in time, and so a bunch of obliviators from different countries had to Floo in and assist those incompetents in the French government!"

"So it's fine then?" Harry concluded with a frown. He didn't see the problem.

"Well that's what Skeeter is writing about!" Pansy exploded, shoving the paper under Harry's nose. "Apparently all those obliviators forgot to destroy some muggle camera or something, and now this veedeo of people playing Quidditch is on some muggle intranet thing, and millions of muggles have seen it! Millions!"

"Oh," said Harry. "Well, what's the Ministry doing?"

"Fudge is claiming there's nothing to worry about. He says the muggles are convinced its a hoax. But I don't know. I mean, they're just muggles, Potter, but Skeeter wrote 'millions.' That's insane! How can there be so many?!" Managing to appear affronted and disgusted at the same time, Pansy wrinkled her nose, adding, "I guess that's just what you do without magic: wallow in your own filth and make babies all day. Degenerates. How do you manage to survive in their midst, Potter? I bet it's horrible. Is it horrible? Tell me."

Flummoxed, Harry couldn't come up with an immediate answer. On the one hand, many of things Pansy just said were blatantly false – and a direct consequence of the pureblood community's complete isolation from the muggle realm. Pansy, Harry reckoned, had never stepped beyond the magical enclaves; she'd never seen automobiles or planes or crowds of people making their daily commute in the crowded underground. Her only exposure was through her parents and peers, and so, just like Malfoy, she parroted the bigoted views of their closed majority.

But, on the other hand, her question about his particular life with muggles stung sharper than a sudden jab in the gut. It left him breathless and hurting, ushering in a host of unwanted memories – mostly images of his past at the Dursleys. There was Dudley, chasing him with Piers and the gang on one of the notorious Harry Hunts; Uncle Vernon, going ballistic and bellowing that he'd never amount to anything; and finally Aunt Petunia, perpetually ridiculing her own sister – his mother – and that no-good husband of hers. Hundreds of memories, all of his miserable childhood, reared their ugly heads and reminded Harry that not only were the Dursleys such terrible people, but that no other muggle – not his teachers or peers or even the neighbors on the street – had ever stepped in to make his life more manageable. And so while Lord Voldemort had been responsible for the death of his parents, it was actually the Dursleys – and the entire muggle world around them – that had turned his existence into a living hell.

And so, filled with an anger and hollow spite, Harry said, "Yeah. It's pretty bad."

"Knew it!" Pansy crowed. "Mudbloods like Granger might get so self-righteous about it, but once they come here, to Hogwarts, they're more than content to spend three-quarters of the year away from their dirt of a family. In fact, I bet if the school allowed students to stay over the summer, every one of them would opt to remain. Well, by Slytherin, that actually makes me feel bad. It's not the mudbloods' fault they were born into such squalor." In a rare moment of introspection, Pansy allowed her guilt to seep through and looked at Harry with pity. "I guess it's not your fault either. You got stuck with the muggles too, when you should have been here, with us. Ugh. Now I feel even worse. I've been treating you like shite all these years, and it's not even your fault. I'm sorry."

Harry, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks, shifted awkwardly. "Err, it's alright."

"No! It's not alright! Here, sit with me. Tell me more about the muggles. I want to know everything."

When Harry hesitated, Pansy reached up to grab him. "Talk!" she instructed, pulling Harry down beside her. "I won't bite. Promise."

Acutely aware of the sudden proximity, Harry took a breath and tasted apricots. Pansy nudged him in the side; her wide eyes, glistening in the fire of the lanterns, held not the usual malice or calculating contempt, but a genuine curiosity with just a smidge of regret.

Drowning in their depths, Harry began to speak.

. . . .

The next meeting turned out to be a bust, because Malfoy got apprehended by Filch. The greasy-haired caretaker caught him en-route to his evening rendezvous and dragged him by the ear to Professor Moody, who promptly assigned a whole week's worth of detentions for being out after curfew. Filch was ecstatic; Harry, Pansy, and Hermione were not, albeit for very different reasons. While the self-proclaimed spies were expressing irritation at the sudden roadblock, Hermione was downright furious. Whatever she was doing with Malfoy was obviously important, because she spent the entire following week sulking while muttering very foul things about Filch (as well as his parents and whole extended family) when she thought no one was listening.

And when Filch was admitted to the Hospital Wing several days later with a nasty case of cure-resistant boils, Harry quickly put the two and two together. Most of the student body blamed the Weasley twins, but he knew better. He would have never considered Hermione capable of hexing someone out of sheer spite, but she had and she did. Harry quietly filed that thought away, just in case.

Their next opportunity arrived five days prior to the start of Winter Break.

Harry almost missed it, too. Engrossed in a game of chess, he didn't see Hermione sneak out. Harry realized his error only when Pansy's owl nearly rammed into his head, swooping down with a hastily-penned note that tumbled from its claws. "Oi!" cried out Ron, as the chess pieces went flying. "What's this all about?!" He was further peeved when Harry muttered some lame excuse before dashing up the stairs to their dorm.

"There's no need to sulk!" Ron yelled at his retreating form. "You've only lost three in a row!"

But chess games and losing streaks were the farthest thing from Harry's mind. After retrieving the cloak and Marauder's Map, he raced down the stairs and turned his steps towards the direction of the Owlery, where Pansy had instructed him to meet her. She intercepted him several levels below the rookery itself, just two corridors away from the room where Hermione and Malfoy had already sequestered themselves.

Pansy did not look happy. "She's warded the place with detection spells!" she raged into Harry's sweating face. "And I'm not familiar with them – I can't take them down! What are we gonna do, Potter?!"

Harry swore. Compared to the dungeons, this part of the castle was much more densely populated, which was probably the reason why Hermione had taken the extra precaution. Which also meant that there was no chance of spying via the hallway.

But the hallway wasn't the only point of entry, he realized. And Hermione – for all her smarts – just didn't appreciate the diversity magic had to offer. How it expanded possibilities. Which meant...

"I've got an idea!" he panted. "C'mon!" Grabbing Pansy's hand, he tugged the protesting witch back towards Gryffindor Tower. Stashing her near the entrance to the common room, he sprinted to retrieve the one thing that just might let them peek in on Hermione's massive secret.

. . . .

"This?!" Pansy gritted through her teeth, several minutes later. "This is your idea? Have you gone mad?"

Harry gazed back at her horror-stricken expression and calmly informed her, "If Hermione's warded the corridor, then there's no possible way we're sneaking past. But she would never consider the windows. It's just not how she thinks."

"Yes, because she is in a tower, three hundred meters off the ground! And you want to...want to…"

"Fly up there," Harry finished, sporting the widest grin. He hadn't flown in ages, and was looking forward to the whole affair. But Pansy hardly shared his merriment. "Fly up there," she repeated hollowly, following Harry's movements. When he mounted his new Nimbus 2010 series, she turned a slight shade of green and shook her head. Well, who'd have thought, mused Harry. Just like Hermione, she detested flying. Birds of a feather: really, the height of irony.

He tried hard not let his amusement show.

"That. Is. Insane."

Sighing dramatically, Harry agreed. "I guess you're right. It is insane. So I'll just have to go up by myself. I'll tell you everything, of course – later, when I return." His cocky grin spoke volumes, aggravating the snobby witch just enough.

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped, overcoming her fears in a bout of anger to quickly lower herself behind him. With her her arms circled 'round his waist and her nose flattened into his back, Harry's spirit soared.

"If I fall, then I'll haunt you forever, Potter. I'll be worse than Myrtle, I swear."

Kicking off, Harry smirked, yelling, "Hold on!" The windows opened soundlessly before his wand, and then they passed through the arched frames and burst out into the wintery landscape beyond.

The air was crisp, and whistled as it sped along the nimble form of the broom. Fluttering through their robes, it sang of unrivaled freedom as they soared. Pansy, who had shut her eyes before the plunge, felt its breath on her cheeks and unwillingly peered out from under her eyelashes.

And gasped.

Hogwarts sprawled out below like some mythical sea-beast, a legend spoken of in hushed whispers among the common folk. A thousand dazzling lights circled its mighty form, concealing more than they showed. Nestled to the castle's stony bosom, the Black Forest stood tall and ominous, proudly swathed in its frigid coat of snow. High above, over the buildings and the wilds and whole wide world, the eye of some grandly monster – kind, beneficent and all-knowing, but a monster nonetheless – blinked languidly from behind its cover of clouds. Dousing the world in periodic darkness, it made the shadow from the Beauxbatons carriage whisper and groan as it stretched across the snowed-in pumpkin patches towards the icy waters on the lake, where the jib and the reefed mainsails of the imposing Durmstrang vessel gently accepted its touch, sighing in the breeze. The magical sight sent chills up the spine.

...It is unsurprising, of course, that muggles, those who inhabit the nearby towns, don't go here. Wicked, they call these ruins. Dangerous. The Devil sings in the wind.

They are blind, my friends. To Harry and Pansy, this place was the quintessence of life.

Up they flew, higher and higher, over the spired towers and mansard roofs, the courtyards and quads, the gilded peaks, and ancient halls – they passed the length of the castle, capturing tiny glimpses of Hogwarts life as it whizzed by, quicker than fireflies darting through the night. There was a pair of students: his hair raven black, hers tumbling locks of sandy blond, framed in a lantern's light as they embraced near the window, in a cozy nook where no one should have seen or disturbed the brief moment of privacy. Elsewhere, a group studied, heads buried in thick, musty tomes that hid the arcane. Some first years, hurrying to reach the common rooms before curfew, huffed from exertion while cursing the ever-shifting stairs…People chattered and laughed, kissed and cried, sat by hearths, sipping from mugs of hot cocoa as they read books or simply rested, exhausted after a trying day… They lived their lives, carefree, content, or maybe beholden by personal worries, but seeing them like this, from the outside, all together, made something clench in Harry's heart. He found his vision turning blurry and had to blink away the sudden moisture clouding his eyes, because, at that moment, the truth was glaringly obvious: Hogwarts was his home. He would fight for this castle, as a place for his friends and his foes, fight for it with every gasping breath, because even prats like Malfoy deserved to be a part of it.

"There it is!" shouted Pansy over the wind. Harry shook his head, glad for the distraction. Pansy's hands were still wrapped around his sides, fingers buried in his robes, and he realized that they wouldn't be able to stay out here for long. While their outerwear was heavy and warm (and Pansy's robes even contain comfort charms), their extremities remained unprotected from the biting weather. His cheeks, for example, had already turned numb with cold.

Still, Harry angled the broom in the direction Pansy indicated, circling the Owlery Tower twice before locating the room Hermione had occupied. He approached it slowly, trying to sense if there was any kind of magic guarding the windows. If there was, neither he nor Pansy could detect it.

"Closer, closer!" Pansy urged, nearly jumping from excitement, which Harry echoed. Whatever Hermione was doing – all her lies and half-truths and omissions – it would all become clear in just a few moments.

Full of trepidation, he maneuvered the broom below the window and then slowly, very slowly so that they wouldn't be seen, inched it higher. Pansy's fingers dug into his sides, and her breath felt hot on his neck. She shakily exhaled when they finally reached the position. The window frame was just at the level of their eyes and Harry carefully peeked over its lower edge.

And he saw…

Saw...

"What are they doing?" Pansy broke the silence after a full minute of staring with a voice that vacillated between confusion and disbelief.

"Ugh…" Harry shared the sentiments fully. For weeks, he'd imagined this moment. He'd pictured Hermione sparring with Malfoy; studying with Malfoy; or even, as revolting as it was to consider, snogging the living daylights of out that pasty face. But his ruminations had never included the pair doing...this. Which was nothing. Nothing at all.

"I dunno," Harry whispered, gazing at the perplexing sight before him. He had a perfect view of the duo, in fact: both sitting in chairs across from each other, stiller than statues. And that was it. No wands, no books, no snogging. Just staring and sitting.

This was rather anticlimactic.

"You think someone cursed them?" Pansy whispered into his ear. Her teeth had begun to chatter from the cold, and she gripped him tight.

"No idea." Now that the adrenaline of their flight had died down, Harry felt the numbness in his hands beginning to spread. His glasses had fogged up as well. From behind him, he heard Pansy rustling in her robes and then whispering a spell – a very mild warming charm. In this weather, it wouldn't hold for long, but they couldn't risk any stronger magic. Magic was usually detectable, and the more potent the spell, the easier it could be sensed.

Still, this gave them a momentary reprieve as they sat, shivering. Neither Hermione nor Malfoy stirred, and if not for the gradual rising of their chests, Harry might have wondered if they were breathing at all. After five minutes, Pansy quietly cursed and nudged him in the side. "Pull us up a bit higher!"

"They'll see!"

"No, they won't! Just do it!"

"Fine!" Harry angled the broom up, moving higher until Pansy whispered, "Stop!" Clutching Harry with one hand, she reached out towards the window and muttered, "Alohomora." The lock clicked; Harry and Pansy froze. The odds of them being seen were at their highest now.

But neither Hermione nor Malfoy, who had both apparently abandoned this world for their own little realm, moved at all. With discovery absent from the cards, Pansy breathed a sigh of relief and then mouthed, "Help me!" into Harry's ear. Harry understood her intentions instantly: if they could pull the window out, then they'd hear whatever was going on inside.

As they perched precariously near the top of the tower, with the winds buffeting around them, pulling the window open was a difficult task even for a Seeker. Pansy, holding on to Harry for dear life, was almost no help at all. Harry grimaced and, using the wall for support, pried his freezing fingers into the window frame. Magic was out of the question here. While alohomora was a relatively simple spell of the telekinetic variety, moving a whole window frame would surely nudge the room's occupants out of whatever weird trance they were currently in.

And so, cursing silently in his head, Harry dug in with his fingers, and almost managed to get ahold of the window when a particularly strong gust of wind nearly knocked them off the broom. Harry fumbled, paling, and gripped the handle with both hands, trying to maintain control of the Nimbus, which had begun tilting to the side. It was an arduous task. The wind grew in strength, howling around them like some ravenous beast, snapping at the students' robes, intent on smashing them into the castle wall. Flurries of snow swatted at Harry's face, leaving him blind and deafened by the roar of the elements. Acutely aware of the precipice below, he focused all his energy into controlling his flight and battling the weather with all the years of his Quidditch experience.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, nature relented. The tempest dulled its anger, and the storm subsided, becoming but a breeze once more. Gently, it brushed at their robes, as if apologizing for the brief tantrum. It left Harry breathless and Pansy trembling with fear. She had pressed herself against him, clutching the wizards in front like a lifeline.

"It's ok," Harry exhaled, once his breathing was under control. "We're fine."

Pansy whimpered. "I hate this. I'd never even be in this stupid situation if my dad hadn't–" She broke off, falling silent.

Harry waited for her to elaborate, but when nothing more came forward, he nudged the broom back in position, where he could get a grip on the frame. "Once more," he cajoled, after checking that the occupants still hadn't noticed their presence. "Just a little bit. We got this."

Pansy, obviously still scared, nevertheless stretched one of her hands forward, grabbing onto the frame with Harry.

"On three," he said. "One, two...three!"

They both pulled: carefully, so as not to completely dislodge the frame, but with enough force to get it moving. After a few moments, it worked: the frame budged, swinging soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. "Shh!" Pansy hissed, letting go. Harry felt exuberant. Even though the winds were picking up again and it was so cold that his bones had probably turned to ice, the chance to hear Hermione's secrets was finally in reach.

In hindsight, he should have prepared better, though.

Sensing the remnants of Pansy's warming charm seep away, he settled in to wait once more, praying that Hermione and her partner would wake soon. And for once, fortune smiled upon him: after only a few minutes, he heard voices. They were indistinct, at first, but then became cleared as the pair inside moved closer to the window.

"–I still think you shouldn't. Black is dangerous, or unstable, at least."

Harry froze. Finally!

"Let's not argue again." Hermione answered. She sounded tired. "I owe it to him."

"Potter." Malfoy practically spat his name. "It's always about Potter with you. But fine. You want to continue with this foolishness, be my guest! But when Black reveals your entire charade–"

"Draco…"

"What?!"

"Don't be that way. Lighten up. C'mon, you were so much better at the shields today. Your work shows: you have a gift!"

Harry's eyes almost popped from shock. He didn't know what was more astounding: that Hermione Granger was buttering up Draco Malfoy, Slytherin bully extraordinaire, or that it actually worked. He imagined the blond was puffing up like some peacock.

"I have been practicing," the Slytherin, successfully distracted, stated in the most pompous way possible, which reminded him of Percy. "But you've improved a lot too. I could hardly detect some of the probes!"

"Thanks," Hermione giggled coquettishly, much like Lavender, actually. "You know I couldn't have done it without you," Hermione continued, her voice thick as butter. "You've been a terrific help, Draco. It's a shame we can't do this more often."

"Yeah…" Malfoy agreed, and then coughed. "That reminds me: something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yes?"

"It's just that. Well." Draco cleared his throat again. "The Yule Ball is approaching. And I was thinking that–"

"Draco, you know we can't be–"

"No, no, I know, of course. I was just wondering if we could meet up later and, um, dance. If...if I could have a dance, I mean. Or maybe not a dance…" He grumbled something indistinct. "I don't know, this was stupid, I'm sorry, forget about it–"

"No! No! I...I rather much like the idea, actually," Hermione confessed, and from the tone of her voice, Harry gathered she was blushing. "We could sneak out early, and I doubt anyone would notice. And then meet up somewhere. Not in the dungeons, though. Or the gardens. Or–"

"I was thinking the rooms by the library. No one will be there. I had mother send me a music box, so we'll, um, have music."

"Oh. That's a great idea! You put a lot of thought into this, Draco," Hermione giggled again. Harry grimaced: he thought the laugh sounded shrill, but Malfoy must have liked it, because he laughed too. "I did. I did. So, I'll owl you the details later then. We can even have another session maybe?"

"That'd be awesome! I'm really looking forward to that, Draco."

"Great. Let's head out then. It's getting cold."

"I know! It's freezing in here. I don't understand–" Harry paled, jerking the broom away from the tower in one swift movement. Pansy, who hadn't been anticipating the sudden maneuver, cried out and dug her fingers into his sides as they accelerated, flying away before Hermione went to check the open window.

"Wow." Pansy spoke, after they were a safe distance away. Her tone was laced with disdain. "Well, that was quite something. 'Ohh, can I dance with you? Ooh, Draco, but that's such a novel idea! Ooh, you put so much thought into it!' Honestly! Could those two be any more disgusting? I think I threw up in my mouth. Ugh. Anyways, why did they mention Black? Are they in contact with him? And I'm still not sure what they were practicing. I'll have to – Oh, Merlin – hit the library." She rolled her eyes, irritated at the unwanted parallel. "We'll need to continue our surveillance, of course – and definitely check out their little date, because this has left more questions than anything. I think we should look into getting–"

Pansy chattered on relentlessly, relaying her plans and her ideas on how they should proceed. She talked and talked, remaining completely oblivious to Harry's narrowed eyes or the angry scowl on his mouth. He'd had quite enough. Pansy was a Slytherin and she might enjoy these little spying endeavours that would eventually lead to blackmail, but he wasn't made of the same clay. It was time to bust this thing wide open: confront Hermione, catch her dancing with Malfoy, and let the chips fall where they may.

He was done playing games.

All chapters have been looked over by my fantastic beta - Frogster, who has simply been a tremendous help.