Author's note: okay, so we have officially 3 reviews for chapter 20. we're trusting you to review both chapters if we give you this one too. -nods- (we're hoping this story will end up having more reviews than Like a Spring Flower. you're almost there, people! keep it up!)
Disclaimer: despite the fact that this is the longest story we've ever written, it's still shorter than Order of the Phoenix. that's our goal. just keep it shorter than jk rowling's work. (i.e. we're not her!)
--kyra

Harry woke in the middle of the night to the sound of gasping coughs. Frowning, he looked over at Draco. The blond haired boy was doubled over in his bed, hacking into a pillow. He didn't notice Harry slipping out of bed, totally concentrated on muffling the noise he was making. Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder. It was burning hot, and Harry wondered just how long Draco had refrained from mentioning that he wasn't well. A good long time, from the feel of it. Draco started, and turned to look wildly at Harry, his face red from fever and coughing.

"Hey," Harry said softly. "What's wrong?"

Draco sighed. "Nothing," he mumbled.

Harry looked at him, and raised his eyebrows. He placed his hand on Draco's forehead, using the other to support the other boy as he started coughing again. Draco finally gasped for breath, and looked at Harry in defeat.

"Don't take me to the hospital wing," he said faintly. "I'm not that sick."

Harry shrugged, and sat down next to Draco. "Then let me take care of you."

Draco blinked, and the ghost of a smile passed across his flushed face. "If you insist."

Harry took his hand away from Draco's forehead, and held it out, closing his eyes. A bowl of liquid appeared in it at his silent command, and he turned back to Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Chicken soup to cure all ills?" he asked cynically.

Harry shrugged. "It works," he said. "Eat."

Draco sighed, but dutifully took the bowl from Harry and began to consume the boiling liquid. He had to stop several times to allow coughing fits to pass, but Harry was there to support him, and he always took the bowl back when he could breathe again. When the soup was finally gone, Harry set the bowl on the bedside table, snagging his glasses as he did so. Through his newly improved vision, Draco looked even worse. Apart from the fever flush, there were dark rings around his eyes, which seemed to have taken over half of his face. His body trembled very slightly, and Harry could see that he'd lost weight. Why hadn't he noticed before? He silently berated himself for not being a better friend. A real friend would have noticed that something was wrong!

"It's not your fault," Draco told him softly, placing a hot hand on Harry's leg. "I didn't want you to know."

"I feel like I don't deserve you," Harry said sadly, taking Draco's hand in his.

"And I feel exactly the same way," Draco assured him. "But you're more than I ever dreamed of."

Harry warmed at the compliment, but tried to put it out of his mind. "This is about Azkaban, isn't it?" he asked. Draco sighed, and didn't answer. He seemed to be considering all the possible lies he could tell. Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, tell me the truth please."

Some of the fight drained out of Draco's slender form, and he nodded miserably.

Harry scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Draco, letting the other boy cling as hard as he needed to. He felt incredibly frail in that moment, as though only Harry's arms were keeping him up. His head was slumped against Harry's shoulder, and Harry fancied that he could feel Draco's ribs through his pajamas. Draco's body was burning with the fever, and he shook with silent coughs, but Harry didn't let go. He tried as hard as he could to pass what strength he had to Draco, to take some of the other boy's troubles as his own. But he couldn't. All he could do was hold Draco as the blond boy shook with grief and fear. No tears fell, but Harry suspected that they had on many other nights. Yet again, he berated himself for being so oblivious. It had been so obvious! But he hadn't looked. He'd accepted Draco's insistence that he was fine and hadn't tried to help the other boy in any way. He was an idiot.

Finally, Draco's shaking slowed to a stop, and he pulled away slightly: not enough to make Harry let go, but far enough away that they could talk comfortably. "I'm sorry for that," Draco told him quietly, his eyes full of shame and another emotion that Harry knew all too well: self-loathing.

"Don't be!" he told Draco fiercely. "If you need to let it out, then do it. I'll always listen to you!"

"Thank you," Draco said. "But I don't want to be so much trouble."

Harry sighed. When would Draco understand? "Draco, I'm your friend. I love you. I hate seeing you hurting like this! I know what you're going through, believe me." He laughed a little bitterly. Oh yes, he certainly knew exactly how Draco was feeling. Sirius' loss struck him suddenly, and he had to fight hard not to contract his muscles in a shiver.

Draco caught the slight motion though, and looked at him. "What was it like?" he asked hesitantly. "When he died?"

Harry took a deep breath, then let it out. He didn't want to talk about it, couldn't talk about it, and yet he couldn't deny it to Draco. Draco knew what it was like: he would be the only one who could really understand. He felt Draco's arms wrap around him, and took comfort in the nearness of the blond teenager. "It was like my whole world went dark," Harry whispered. "I didn't believe it, couldn't believe it at first. I thought that he'd be back, that he was just playing around. And then… then he didn't come back when I shouted, and he didn't answer, and I knew that he wasn't coming back. I couldn't take it in. Sometimes… sometimes I still expect to see an owl coming from him, saying that he's in Tahiti checking out hot muggle girls." There were tears coursing down his cheeks, the first he'd ever shed for Sirius. Draco held him silently, resting his head against Harry's collarbone. The contact gave him strength, and he continued. "People don't understand. They expect me to be sad, but they don't realize how much of a catastrophe it was. He… he was the only family I remember. My parents died when I was too little to remember, and my aunt and uncle are not my family. They might be related by blood, but they don't count. So when I found him… it was like a dream come true." He had to stop there as the memories coursed through him. Sirius the first time he'd seen him. Sirius at Grimmauld Place. Sirius cooking Christmas Dinner. Talking to Sirius in the fire. Seeing Sirius duel with Bellatrix. Watching him… fall. He found that he was weeping openly, drenching the pillow that Draco had been coughing into.

"You don't have to go on," Draco whispered, running his hands over Harry's back. But Harry did have to. Now that the memories had been unleashed, they had to run their full course. And so he talked. He told about the letters, and about Grimmauld Place. He told about seeing Sirius descend deeper into melancholy. He recounted the duel at the ministry, and about seeing Sirius fall.

"No one really understood," he said again, his voice reduced to a broken whisper. "No one."

"I understand," Draco told him, his voice equally soft.

"I know."

They sat together, holding each other and remembering until Draco started to cough again. Harry looked up guiltily. "God, Draco! You should be asleep, not listening to me break down."

Draco grinned lopsidedly. "Yes mum," he said. Then, more quietly, almost hesitantly, "Stay with me?"

Harry nodded, and Draco scooted over to allow Harry to slip into the bed. Through mutual consent, they held each other, each allowing the other to take as much strength as he could. Neither slept for a long time, both wrapped up in their own memories and sorrows.

The next morning, Draco seemed much improved. His face was less flushed, and when Harry put a hand on his forehead, it was cooler, though not normal temperature yet. He was breathing better as well, and Harry had to wonder if the Room had dosed the soup with antibiotics. It was the sort of thing that it would do.

"What day is it?" Draco asked, sitting up in the bed.

Harry frowned, trying to remember. "Saturday, I think," he said. "Why?"

"Then we can stay here a little while longer, can't we?"

There was a slight pleading note in Draco's voice, one that Harry found impossible to resist. It also brought home with full force that Draco was far from fine. Harry had neglected him for too long. He vowed that he would stay with Draco until the other boy recovered as much as was possible.

"Of course."

Draco snuggled back down into the bed, and Harry leaned down to kiss his forehead. Draco moaned slightly, and Harry grinned. "No more," he said sternly. "You're still sick."

As though in response, Draco coughed. It was a far cry from the desperate, hacking sounds of the night before, though, and it didn't bother Harry that much. Draco was rapidly getting better. He wasn't completely recovered, though, and Harry wasn't about to let him go gallivanting about the castle.

Draco seemed to realize this, because he looked up into Harry's eyes. "What shall we do to pass the time if passion is forbidden?" he asked.

Harry grinned. "Ask the Room," he answered.

Draco shrugged, and closed his eyes. A moment later, a chessboard appeared on the bedside table. Harry looked at it, and couldn't hide a groan. Draco looked up at him, his eyebrow raised in amusement. "You don't approve?"

"I'm an extremely bad chess player," Harry told him bluntly.

"And I'm extremely good," Draco said smugly. "So it doesn't matter." With a sigh, Harry moved over so that they could put the board behind them. They set up their pieces quickly, and began to play.

Draco was right, he was good. He had obviously been playing for a long time, and Harry though that he could probably give even Ron a run for his money. Not, of course, that either of them would ever consent to playing the other. It was soon obvious that Draco was going to crush Harry's forces though the simple virtue of superior numbers. Harry sent piece after piece up to try and capture one of Draco's, but they all ended up being slaughtered by Draco's army. When Harry was finally forced to concede, Draco looked at him in amazement.

"Harry, you should be much better at this game."

Harry frowned. "I don't do well at long-term thinking," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you do," he said. "You just don't realize it. Look, imagine this is Quidditch, all right? My king is the snitch, and the other pieces are the other players. To capture the snitch, you need to get past the other players without being caught, correct?" Harry nodded. "So you send out the other players to distract as many of the opponents as possible. Then, you just have to duel against the enemy seeker while trying to get him farther away from the snitch than you."

"It's not that simple," Harry complained.

"No, it's not," Draco agreed. "But that's the basic idea, right?"

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"So take that idea and use it here."

"It's not going to work!"

Draco sighed. Then, his face lit up. He pulled his wand off the bedside table and muttered something to the white pieces. They sprang to attention, and arranged themselves obediently on their side of the board.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Playing on your side," Draco said, skillfully setting up the black pieces. He then proceeded to guide Harry through a game of proper chess, explaining the reasons for his moves and predicting what the other side would do in return. By the time Draco captured the white king, Harry realized that he'd actually followed what was going on.

"I actually know what to do now," Harry told him, amazed.

Draco laughed. He winced as the laughter turned to a cough, but it passed quickly, and he returned to his own side of the board. "So are you ready to play again?"

Harry shrugged. "We'll see."

They set their pieces up again, and this time, Harry managed to capture Draco's Queen before the blond boy kicked his King off the board. Draco grinned. "See?" he asked. "You can do it, if you try!"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't mean that I have to like it, though," he said.

"You will," Draco told him confidently. "Trust me." Draco took pity on Harry, though, and sent the chess set back to wherever the Room kept the things it supplied to whoever used them.

Harry stretched out, working the kinks out of his back and neck. "Are you feeling up to getting out of bed yet?" he asked.

Draco grimaced. "I'm fine, Harry," he said, a little impatiently. "I told you, it's just a cold."

"Aggravated by the fact that you haven't been taking proper care of yourself," Harry said in irritation. "Honestly, Draco, why is it that you seem just to be able to ignore your own needs like this?"

Draco sighed. "It's not like I do it on purpose," he said, though he wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. "I just… forget."

Harry snorted, but didn't comment. He knew exactly why Draco did this to himself, and he didn't approve of the feeling at all. Draco wanted to punish himself for things that weren't his fault, and that he couldn't have avoided. Of course, Harry had done the same things himself, but he pushed the thought away. This was about Draco, not him.

"I promise to eat again," Draco told him seriously. "And to sleep. It's just been… hard."

Harry nodded, feeling guilt over his thoughts wash over him. Who was he to be pointing fingers? "I know," he said.

Draco nodded. "I know you do," he whispered. "That's why I'm telling you. You'll understand, and you won't ridicule me."

"You're strong, Draco," Harry said, responding to the sentiment instead of the words. "Believe me, you're the strongest person I know."

"I don't feel strong," Draco muttered.

Harry grinned. "We never do," he said.

Draco laughed. "That is so true."

They stayed in the Room for most of the day, laughing, talking, admitting secrets. Harry felt as though he was finally draining the poison out of an old wound, and it was a huge relief. He suspected that Draco felt the same way.

Pansy could only hope that Potter noticed Draco's condition before too much longer, because she was going out of her mind trying to care for him alone. After all, Potter was supposed to be his great love, not her. But she didn't complain, at least, not out loud, and she continued to do what she could. The night that Draco didn't return for almost twenty four hours, she hoped sincerely that he'd had a good long conversation with Potter and exorcised at least a few of his demons. Blaise took advantage of Draco's absence to drag her away from her duties as mother-in-chief and back to being just Pansy.

"You need to take care of yourself too," he reminded her. "If you fall apart, then who will take care of me?"

"You are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, Blaise Zabini," she informed him.

"Yes," he agreed. "But sometimes it's nice not to have to do everything yourself."

Pansy nodded, a little reluctantly. Blaise grinned. "So. Now that we're clear on that point, is there anything that you actually want to do today? I feel like I've hardly seen you for the last week."

"Sorry," she said. "I've been… preoccupied."

"I noticed," he said dryly. "A bit ironic, isn't it? After all, it was my idea to worry about Draco in the first place."

Pansy shrugged. "Feel flattered."

"Oh I do. But you've neatly sidestepped my question."

She frowned, trying to think. There were things that she wanted to do on her own, after all. "Will you be willing to sidestep the rules?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "Just how far?"

"Oh, far enough to take me to Hogsmeade."

His eyebrows shot up higher. "Somehow Pansy, I was expecting you to want to steal food and go to the Room."

She grimaced. "That's boring," she announced.

"We can never have that, can we?" he asked dryly.

She slapped him gently. "Be nice Blaise. If you don't want to take me, I'll understand."

"I never said that I wouldn't," he protested. "Do you think that you can think of a way not to get caught?"

Pansy shrugged. "We could fly."

"And what about getting caught?"

"We could use a distraction. I know some first years who would be glad for a little extra pocket money."

"And just what do you expect them to be able to do?" Blaise asked, incredulous.

She grinned evilly. "Well… I happen to know that the Weasley twins managed to sell a lot of their joke things before they left. It could possibly be arranged for several of those things to be set off somewhere far away from the main door."

Blaise looked at her with new respect. "You know, behind that frivolous exterior, Pansy, you actually do have a fairly wicked brain, don't you?"

She tossed her brown hair, winking at him from under it. "What do you mean, Blaise-dear? I am all frivolity and fun! Though, come to think of it, I was sorted into Slytherin."

"If you plan on your scheme of deluding the world to your true nature, stop using four-syllable words," he advised. "So when do you want to set off this daring plan of yours?"

She pushed her hair out of her face again and glanced at her watch. Her eyes went from flirtatious to calculating, and she said, "Give me an hour to set it all up, then probably another fifteen minutes to get it working. I'll meet you in the entrance hall at… say eleven thirty. Everything should be in full swing by then, and no one should notice us."

"I don't like how you keep saying should," Blaise complained.

Pansy glared at him. "Do you not trust me?"

"Not in the slightest," he assured her. "Eleven-thirty it is."

As a prefect, Pansy had been given ways to communicate with the younger students. Being Slytherins, they were perfectly willing to slip out of their previous engagements and meet her discreetly in small groups. She outlined her idea, and suggested subtly that they spread the word to some of the more closed-mouthed of the students from other houses. All that she required, she told them, was that something big, confusing, and time-consuming somewhere very far away from the main hall.

Unfortunately, younger students usually exhibit a frightening lack of the ability to think for themselves, and soon, Pansy found herself the head of a small army of pranksters, all perfectly willing but incapable of coming up with things on their own. She sighed heavily, then got to work, separating them into groups consisting of brigades of students with similar prank items. Each group had an appointed leader, and she instructed those leaders to report to her when they had come up with a strategy. She listened carefully to the reports, made suggestions when they were necessary, and generally tidied up the sloppier plans.

She'd separated out a group of highly promising students –all Slytherin, naturally–, and, after telling the masses to keep working, took these selected ten into a secluded corner. "I want you ten to make sure that Filch is completely occupied. The other plans might not be enough, and I expect you to come up with something foolproof. Do you understand?"

They nodded. Elspeth, a shy third year, spoke up tentatively. "Are we sticking to safe methods?"

"Do you mean safe for yourselves, or safe for the recipients?"

"The recipients."

Pansy shrugged. "Please try not to kill anyone. I'd like this to happen during the main diversion, and I won't be here to supervise. Do you understand?"

They all nodded again, and Pansy left them to it.

At eleven-fifteen, Pansy showed up in the entrance hall. She lounged casually against a column, waiting for Blaise to show up. At exactly eleven-twenty, she heard a loud 'bang' from a far-off part of the castle and allowed herself a slightly predatory grin. So far, everything was going to plan. She listened with growing happiness as the bangs were underlaid with cursing and various shouts. If they managed to keep this up, then it would be perfect.

"This is your grand plan?" Blaise hissed, coming up next to her soundlessly.

She started. "Don't do that to me, Blaise! You are going to end up giving me a heart attack!"

He shrugged. "If you paid attention to the world around you, I wouldn't be able to sneak up on you like that."

She rolled her eyes. "Never mind. So, are you ready?"

He nodded, and the two of them walked casually out the door and onto the grounds. Pansy glanced around at the empty lawn around them, then pulled out her reduced size broom from her pocket and murmured the counter-charm. As the Cleansweep increased to normal size, she kept a sharp glance on the castle. If anyone came out and saw them, they were in deep trouble. Soon, though, both she and Blaise were ready, and they mounted their broomsticks and took off.

Pansy didn't mind flying. She didn't idolize it like Draco did, but neither did she loath it as Granger was reputed to do. She was reasonably competent with a broom, and she even managed to pull ahead of Blaise by several feet. By the time they finally landed in Hogsmeade, he was breathing heavily. She grinned at him, still breathing easily. He glared back, then shrunk his broom down to pocket size and slipped it into his robes. She did the same, then waited for him to speak.

"Well?" he asked finally. "Are you going to actually go anywhere, or shall we stand here all day?"

"You're the one taking me," she protested. "Don't you have a plan?"

"I'm not even going to answer that one," he said firmly. "Where to first?"

She tilted her head, considering. "Zonko's," she said finally, watching his face fall. "And then, if you're good, you can take me to the bookshop."

He sighed. "The things I do for you," he muttered. Then, he bowed to her, for all intents and purposes as though he were a king and she his queen. "Shall we go?"

She giggled and accepted his arm. Together, they swept down the hill and into the small village.

Two hours later, they were sitting in the Three Broomsticks, sipping Butterbeer under the disapproving gaze of Madam Rosmerta. Pansy thought that the barwoman recognized them as students, but she didn't say anything.

Blaise leaned back, taking his tankard with him. "Aren't you glad you got away?" he asked.

She grinned. "Exceedingly," she agreed. "Thank you so much for offering."

He frowned at her, trying to detect any hint of sarcasm, but she only lowered her eyelashes modestly. He shrugged. "You're welcome," he said.

"How long do we have?"

He glanced at his watch. "About another half hour until dinner, I think. I assume that you want to be back by then, don't you?"

She shrugged back. "I don't care. Tomorrow's Sunday, so it's not like we need to be back early for classes."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"What do you think I am?"

"I think that you want me to buy you dinner and stay out late carousing. Am I right?"

She shrugged. "Well, there's not much in the way of carousing to be found here, but I'm game for dinner."

"Try not to order anything too extravagant, please," he said, resigned. "My funds aren't unlimited."

"They're more than mine are," she pointed out. "Your family has money, after all."

"Yes," he agreed. "But I don't. I'll get it when I come of age, but that's not until next October."

She looked at him in surprise. "You're only sixteen?"

He nodded. "I turned sixteen in October, remember?"

She frowned, thinking. "A little," she said, casting her mind back with difficulty. "You didn't have a party. Why so late?"

He grinned. "Advanced Placement. My parents bullied Dumbledore into letting me in a year ahead of schedule."

"I'm glad that they did," Pansy told him.

"So am I."

"So you'll buy me dinner?"

He blinked, making the necessary connection. He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Pansy. I will buy you dinner."

"Good. And I'll make it up to you by getting coffee."

He snorted. "That leaves you owing me how much?"

"Nothing at all," she replied. "You're the man, so you pay my way. It's the way such things work."

He sighed, but wisely chose not to answer. They ordered dinner –with Pansy pointedly not ordering the most expensive thing on the menu– and ate in a comfortable silence. Gradually, they began to discuss random events, easing the tension that had been coursing through them ever since they read the newspaper article detailing the escape of Draco's parents. They carefully avoided any topic relating to that unfortunate event.

Finally, having finished their meal and sipped all the coffee they wanted, Blaise stood, stretching.

"Have you finished ruining me yet?"

Pansy grinned. "Not quite."

He lifted his eyebrows warily. "Oh? What is it now?"

She nodded towards the musicians assembling at the front of the pub. "If you give them money, they'll play a song for us."

"Do you have a preference?"

Pansy named the song she'd been thinking of, and he burst out laughing. "I didn't realize you listened to muggle music," he teased.

"I don't, usually. This one's my mother's favorite. Don't tell anyone I told you that, by the way."

"I promise," he swore solemnly. "Classical it is, then." He stood gracefully and moved easily through the throngs of tables and over to where the band was getting ready. He muttered something to them, and Pansy was sure that she could see a few coins changing hands. He turned back to her, beckoning. She walked towards him. He took her hand and led her into the space that had cleared in front of the band. The lead singer smiled at her, then lowered his arms to his instrument. Music filled the pub, and Blaise led Pansy into a slow waltz. Other couples filtered onto the floor with them, and by the time the song had ended, the tables were being pushed back to make more room.

They launched into a faster song, and Pansy grinned at Blaise. She was finally only herself, just having fun and not worrying about Draco or anyone else. She cared only about how much fun she was having. As she and Blaise danced faster and faster, she allowed herself to grin more freely than she had in a long time. Not even Blaise's satisfied look was enough to ruin her mood. She was free at long last, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

Two weeks after their conversation in the garden, Ron presented Harry with the final copy of his note to Hermione. He was blushing a brilliant crimson as he handed over the carefully rolled piece of parchment, and he rushed off the moment Harry had it firmly in hand. Parvati watched him go, then raised her eyebrows.

"What's that?" she asked. She didn't have to elaborate; Harry knew as well as she did what she was talking about.

"A letter," Harry said shortly. He had no wish to discuss Ron's love life with Parvati. It was one thing to give her vague hints about his own, but there was no way he was going to reveal Ron's secrets. He was much too loyal a person for that.

Apparently she didn't realize that, because she pressed, "For you?"

"No."

"For who?"

"Why do you care?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly, you're such a boy! I care because I'm curious."

"Tough," he said flatly. "I'm not going to tell you."

Later, he would realize just what a stupid thing that was to say to a girl like Parvati. It only made her more determined than ever to find out what was going on.

"Come on, Harry!" she wheedled, moving closer to him. "I promise I won't tell anyone else."

Harry sighed. "No!" he insisted. "Just leave it alone."

She pouted prettily. Harry felt his insides start to soften slightly. He turned his thoughts ferociously to Draco, and they regained their customary hardness. "No."

"Well, will you at least tell me who it's from?"

"Will that get rid of you?"

"Possibly."

He sighed. "It's from Ron, all right?"

She grinned triumphantly, and he wondered just what he'd given away. "This must be your lucky day. I can leave now. And, by the way? Hermione's in the library." She winked at him, then skipped away. Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd just told her everything she needed to know, even though he'd sworn not to. What was he coming to? Still, she had given him useful information. He turned on his heels and walked out of the common room, heading for the library.

Sure enough, Hermione was sitting in a corner, furiously scribbling away. She didn't look up as he came over to her, and only slowed her frantic note taking when he spoke her name.

"Mm?" she asked, not looking up.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Mm-hm," she said absently, carefully inserting a period at the end of her bullet point. Only Hermione would make her bullets complete sentences, Harry though, glancing over her shoulder at the book she was reading.

"'And would not a foreign adventure deflect some of the rebellious energy that went into strikes and protest movements towards and external enemy? Would it not unite the people with government, with armed forces, instead of against them? This was probably not a conscious plan among most of the elite—but a natural development from the twin drives of capitalism and nationalism.'" Harry read, lifting his eyebrows as he did so. "What's this for?"

"History of Magic," Hermione said stiffly. "And I have a lot more to read, so please say what you have to say and be brief."

Harry sighed. "This is from Ron," he said, putting the letter down on top of her book.

She frowned, pushing it off the book and neatly into a pile of papers. "Does it require an answer?"

"Yes," Harry told her. "Preferably soon. I'd rather not try to deal with Ron's nerves for too long, if you don't mind."

"All right," she said. "I'll give it to him when I've written it."

"All right," Harry agreed. He watched as she plunged back into the book, obviously completely ignoring him. He sighed, then started back up to Gryffindor Tower. He found Ron sitting in the dormitory, steadfastly looking away from his bed. "I gave it to her," he said.

Ron seemed to deflate some. "And?"

Harry shrugged. "She was working."

He sighed. "So she didn't even look at it, did she?"

Harry started to lie, then changed his mind. Ron wouldn't appreciate it any more than he himself would have. "No," he admitted. "But she put it with the most important of her homework."

Ron snorted. "That's a very messed up compliment," he said. His face fell again. Harry knew Ron well enough to know when he was about to suffer from a serious case of over strung nerves, and he would rather not have to deal with that. He wondered suddenly if this was how Draco had felt when he was waiting for Harry to give him his answer. He hoped not.

"Look, Ron. There's no point in just sitting here. Grab your broom."

"What?"

"Grab your broom. We both need some practice if we're going to win the Quidditch cup."

"But, what if she answers?" Ron asked. Harry could see his eyes wandering out to the Quidditch pitch, though, and he pressed his advantage.

"She's got half the book to get through," Harry said. "It'll be a while."

"You think?"

"Trust me."

"All right," he said reluctantly.

Harry grinned, and ushered him out to the pitch.

They entered the common room slowly, both panting and drenched with sweat. Ron collapsed onto his bed, then frowned and reached under himself. He pulled a slightly crumpled piece of paper out and looked at it. All the color drained out of his flushed face.

"It's her answer," he said simply. His hands shook as he struggled to open it. With a ripping sound, he finally managed to open the letter and smoothed it out on his knee. Slowly, he began to read. When he reached the end of the letter, he simply sat for a long, still moment. Finally, Harry reached over and pulled it out of his unresisting hands. He read it quickly, noting that Hermione's usually neat and even handwriting wavered slightly in some spots. When he finished, he looked up at Ron.

"See?" he asked. "She agreed, didn't she?"

Ron nodded shakily. "Yeah," he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "Yeah, she agreed." He sat silently for a beat longer, then suddenly he let out a whoop. "She agreed!" he shouted, grinning manically. "She agreed to go out with me!"

Harry grinned back, letting Ron blast his eardrums out with his exulted relief. He let his own mind wander to his own love, and his grin widened. Had Draco done the same later that night? Obviously Pansy knew about the two of them. Had Draco shouted in ecstasy that night? Harry hoped that he had. It seemed to be doing Ron rather a lot of good.

Suddenly, Ron turned to Harry. "Thanks a lot, mate," he said sincerely. "You're the one who convinced me."

"Any time," Harry told his friend sincerely. "Any time at all."

Severus sighed as he heard the knock on his door, wondering just which student he'd assigned detention to this time. With a muffled curse, he set down his book and moved to open the door. A blond girl walked in, glancing nervously around like they all did. He closed the door behind her, then scowled. He couldn't place this girl, though she looked as though she should be familiar. He waited for her to speak, hoping that her voice would give her away. "Severus," she whispered, and he started. No one but the teachers called him by his first name! He peered at her closely, wondering who in the name of Merlin she was. "Severus, don't you recognize me? It's Narcissa!"

"Narcissa?" he demanded, shocked. Now that he looked harder, it did look like her, or at least, like what she'd looked like when she was still at school. "Sweet Merlin, what are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," she said, shaking her hair out. "The potion wears off in a few hours, so I don't have much time. Are you going to invite me in?"

Severus shrugged and motioned for her to follow him. He led her into his private rooms and reinforced the wards. No one else should be able to enter without his passwords, not even Albus. She sat down without an invitation, and he silently pressed a mug of tea into her hands. "Are you mad?" he hissed as she drank.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I suppose I must be."

He frowned at her, trying to judge her state through the anti-aging potion. "What's happened to you?"

She shrugged. "Lucius wasn't surprised to see me arrive at Azkaban. I don't know how he managed to stay sane, but then, maybe he was just always insane. Either way, he brooded for months after I arrived, and then dragged me out one night and Apparated away. I suppose that there must have been someone on the outside who neutralized the wards or something, because all of us could do magic. He took me straightly to his camp, and they made me swear that night." She grimaced, and rolled up her sleeve to reveal the unmistakable Dark Mark. It hadn't shrunk with the potion, and it took over all of her small arm. Severus looked away.

"So you've been there for the last few weeks?"

She nodded. She was composed and, if not calm, then much more so than she had been in the summer. He wondered just what she'd been doing to herself. "They had to train me," she said simply. Severus nodded. He'd gone through that training himself.

"So why are you here?"

"Two reasons. First, the official. Severus, you're to report to him tomorrow night. That's all I know."

He nodded. It was understandable that she not be told anything. The Dark Lord trusted no one. It was why he was once again gaining strength. "And the other?"

"I'm worried about Draco."

Severus sighed. He should have been prepared for that one. "Narcissa, what would you like me to tell you: the truth, or a comforting lie?"

That seemed to answer her question, because she turned pale. "He's all right?"

He shrugged. "He appears to be coping reasonably well."

"Is that by my standards, or by yours?"

"Who is it who is giving the report?"

"What does that mean in my standards?"

Severus shrugged. "I would tell you to evaluate him yourself, but it would be unwise for you to be seen around him."

She looked at him, her eyes bright with hope. "Can I see him?"

Severus frowned. "Personally, I would highly discourage it. He reacts rather strongly to Death Eaters."

"He doesn't seem to mind you," Narcissa pointed out. She hadn't reacted at all to his calling her a Death Eater, and his frown deepened.

"Narcissa, what have you been taking?"

"Ligilimancy again?"

"No, years of teaching potions. What is it?"

She shrugged. "Dreamless sleep coupled with composure. Why do you ask?"

His inner natures conflicted. On the one hand, he itched to slap some sense into her. Didn't she realize what she was doing to herself? Then again, her life was likely to be short now anyway. Did it matter that she chose to destroy what was left with potions? They would keep her mostly sane. "Do you need more supplies?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Aren't you going to lecture me about the evils of relying on potions? It's what I was expecting."

"I would love to, Narcissa, but nothing I would say would have any effect." His voice softened slightly. "I would like to ask you to take care of yourself, but I realize how hard that is. Just be sensible."

She nodded seriously. "I do try," she assured him. "But… well, you know what it's like, don't you?"

Severus nodded. "I do indeed," he agreed.

They were silent for a long moment, then she said, "Severus, let me see my son, please. I… I want to talk with him."

Severus sighed. Could he really deny her this? He knew as well as she did that what she really wanted to do was to say goodbye. Neither of them had any illusions as to the dangers of their predicaments. It was quite likely that this would be the last time that Narcissa Malfoy ever saw her son. "I will fetch him. You stay here! No one should be able to enter without my passwords, and no one knows them but myself." He strode to the door, then paused. "There is aging potion in the blue flask by the door."

He walked quickly down the hall, keeping his eyes open for Draco. Thankfully, the boy was, for once, in the common room. He stood when Severus entered, and the potions master motioned silently for him to follow. Without a word, Draco placed a bookmark in the book he was reading and followed Severus out of the common room. The silence continued until they reached the potions room. There, Severus stopped and turned to Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, it is imperative that you keep what is about to happen to yourself. It would put lives in danger if you breathed a word of this, and need I tell you that our goal is to keep as many people alive as possible?"

Draco nodded, confused. "What is going on, Sir?" he asked.

"You'll see," Severus said shortly. He spoke his password and strode into the room. Narcissa had taken advantage of the aging potion that he'd offered her, and she now looked her usual self. Now that he saw her more clearly, Severus could see that dark shadows under her eyes and the faint lines that hadn't been there in July. Draco came in after him, and stopped dead.

The two stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Severus moved over and took a seat on a wooden chair, giving every impression of being immersed in a book. They didn't even notice him. Finally, Narcissa broke the silence. "Draco," she said, and Severus could tell that, despite the potions she'd been taking, she was perilously close to losing her composure.

"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded, not bridging the distance between them.

"I wanted to see you again."

He laughed, a little bitterly. "Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather kidnap me and force me to become the Dark Lord's slave?"

Narcissa shuddered visibly at the notion. "Draco, I just wanted to talk to you."

"Then talk."

"I… I'm sorry. I had no choice. They forced me to do it."

Draco looked at his mother in disgust. "You always have a choice, mother. Just because you allow yourself to be cowed by father doesn't mean that it was the only option."

Narcissa flinched at Draco's words, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "You don't know what it's like," she said, her voice quivering.

"I know quite well," Draco snapped. "Do you think that this year has been just perfect?"

"I don't know!" Narcissa wailed. "That's just it! I don't know you anymore, Draco!"

"Maybe you don't deserve to," Draco said coldly. "I used to idolize you, Mother. Now, I realize that you're as unworthy of my admiration as father is."

The tears were rolling freely down Narcissa's cheeks now. "I know," she whispered. "I know, and I'm not trying to justify my choices."

"But you are," Draco told her. "You call me here and tell me to forgive you. Well, maybe I can't, Mother. I was taught two things from you in my life: to keep my head down and my pride weak. Well, now I'm doing neither. I've rebelled from your training, and from Father's. I'm my own person, and I refuse to look up to anyone."

"You… you idiot boy!" Narcissa screamed through the tears. "I told you that to keep you safe! Do you think I'm proud of what I've become? Do you think I wouldn't have rather died than do this?"

"I notice that you are still alive," Draco told her cruelly.

"Yes, because, as you said, I'm weak. I don't want you to make my mistakes! I want you to live long enough to know what living means!"

"You want me to become a puppet."

"If that's what it takes! I want you to survive."

He looked at her with loathing. "You disgust me," he said icily. "You and your pathetic groveling. Did you think that you would impress me? Or rather, did you think that I would fall into your arms like I did when I was four? Because I'm not four any longer, Mother. I am almost of age, and the moment I turn seventeen, I swear, I am never going to take your charity or listen to your orders anymore." He swept out of the room, leaving a shocked silence behind him. Severus heard him slam the doors and leave the potions classroom. He knew from months of surreptitiously watching Draco that the blond boy would go immediately back to his study, but he didn't know what Draco would choose to do there. He'd changed, far more so that Severus had realized. He'd grown cold and closed, and the fear that had been a part of him for so long was turning to hatred.

"What did I do?" Narcissa whispered brokenly, turning Severus' attention back to her. He crossed the room and made her sit down. He summoned a chair and sat down next to her, taking her hands in his own. He was a fool for allowing her to see Draco. He should just have told her that it couldn't be arranged and sent her on her way. He knew as well as she did that this had basically signed her death warrant. Narcissa lived for her son, and if he no longer needed her, then her purpose was gone.

"It's not your fault," Severus told her gently. "There's nothing you could have done."

"I… I looked into his eyes and saw Lucius," Narcissa managed. "Lucius was just the same."

"Draco is not Lucius," Severus said firmly. "Draco does have feelings."

"So does Lucius," she said bitterly. "Lucius feels joy, and elation, and all manner of emotions."

"But Draco is not Lucius," Severus said again.

"No," Narcissa said quietly. She took a deep breath, trying to control her tears. "Please, Severus. Make sure that Draco never becomes Lucius."

Severus nodded. "I swear, Narcissa, I will do everything in my power to keep Draco himself."

"Thank you." She straightened, and he let go of her hands. She glanced at her watch, and sighed. "I should go," she said. "Thank you for consenting to talk to me, and thank you for bringing him. At least… at least I know that he's safe."

Severus stood, and ushered her out of his rooms though a series of passages unknown to most of the student body. They led out into the Forbidden Forrest, and he walked with her to the boundary. "Take care of yourself," he told her seriously.

She nodded. "I'll try." She hesitated, looking straight into his eyes. Then, she leaned forward and deposited a kiss on his lips. He returned it, and they held the connection for a long moment. Then, she nodded to him, stepped across the ward line, wrapped her black cloak protectively around her body, and vanished.

1 From A People's History, by Howard Zen.