12.

The sea was tamer here, the sound of the surf a seductive murmur rather than a challenging roar. The cliffs weren't sheer walls of rock, but were wrapped in greenery, a zigzagging pathway leading Harry and Draco up through rock grottos to a cliff-top road lined with hotels.

The hotels were all huge Victorian confections. Lights glowed behind their many windows, and snatches of laughter and conversation drifted over to Harry as he stood on the roadside. He still could hear the music from the fairground on the beach-front below.

They were back in the real world. Back to human beings, and all their problems. If not straight back into the war, then back to a place where it could catch up with them.

Draco looked at the hotels with approval. "Well, at least the accommodation is better this time," he said.

"Don't get too optimistic," Harry replied. "I can't imagine Moody picking any of these as a suitable hiding place."

"Don't dash my hopes, Potter. I expect to be put up in the manner to which I'm accustomed." Draco's voice was steady, his tone light, but his words lacked their usual bite. "The Grand Hotel - I wonder which one it is?"

"Um, if I had to guess, I'd say that one." Harry pointed. And almost laughed out loud at the expression that settled on Draco's face.

"No. This is a bad joke, it has to be."

No light showed from the windows of the hotel Harry was pointing at - in fact, from what he could see in the failing light, they were firmly boarded up. The high wire fences surrounding the building had signs on them, with the decidedly unwelcoming mottos "Danger - structurally unsound" and "Keep out".

Bits of yellowing paper were stuck to the fence at regular intervals. Harry covertly conjured up a light to read one of them. "'Redevelopment scheduled to start September 1997.' Well, Lupin did say this was only a temporary solution - I suppose this is why."

Draco muttered a couple of choice swear words. He sighed and shrugged; Harry watched lean muscles move beneath smooth skin and abruptly remembered why he felt so awkward. Even with Draco's contempt still so clear in his head, it was so hard to keep himself from reaching out -

Draco stepped smartly out of reach. "Right. Fine."

"Draco -" Harry couldn't stop himself from closing the gap, reaching out for Draco. It was all so awkward, but if he could just touch him, he was sure it would make everything right again.

The warm skin beneath his fingers turned into rushing air as Draco Disapparated.

The crack was much too loud on the quiet road. Harry found himself being stared at by an old woman walking a dog. He smiled at her and tried to look casual, as if the last thing he wanted to do was break into a condemned building.

The woman frowned at him. Her dog was a tiny terrier, nothing more than a ball of white fluff, but its rage was impressive as it flung itself at him, barking and howling and almost strangling itself on its lead. Harry was rather hurt; he'd always got on well with animals.

The dog suddenly shrank behind its owner's legs, whining. The wire fence behind Harry rattled as if someone was trying to climb it - and the dog took off, almost dragging the poor woman off her feet.

When Harry finally looked around, Draco was hanging off the fence, a strange expression on his face as he watched the dog run off.

"Animals never did like me," he said. He met Harry's eyes for the first time since shoving him away, and his gaze held a challenge.

"They're more sensitive than people," Harry said. He met challenge with challenge, relishing the eye contact - and the heat spreading through his body. The 'W' word seemed to hang in the air between them, just waiting for Harry to say it. He didn't. "They can tell a total git when they see one."

Draco blinked. Then he grinned, flashing strong white teeth. "Shame humans can't. It would save me from a lot of tedious people. And, talking of tedious people, your friends are inside."

They weren't the only ones inside. The doors must have been Imperturbed, because as Harry and Draco stepped into the hall, they were met with pandemonium. Livia was attending the wounds of a trio of grim-looking men. Two women passed them, carrying boxes of dried herbs and roots. A couple of small children ran about, dodging between the adults' legs. And through the double doors at the end of the hall, Harry could see a giant in the ballroom.

It was spread out unconscious on the polished wooden floor with what seemed to Harry to be almost every current member of the Order gathered around it. He spotted a familiar figure, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, and shouted out. "Hagrid!"

Draco stood and watched as Potter rushed over to the big man, looking like a child in comparison as they hugged. He made no attempt to join him. Hagrid was as scary as the Dark Creatures he liked so much.

The thought gave Draco some cynical amusement. Hagrid would love me now. He was pretty certain werewolves fell under Hagrid's definition of 'interesting creatures'.

It was amazing how alone you could feel in a room full of people. He watched them talk, then Weasley was at Potter's side, pulling him away. Potter glanced back at Draco as he was dragged off. Draco kept his expression hard.

Go away. I don't want to be part of your little band anyway.

It was ridiculous. He didn't want to be anywhere near Potter - the memory of coming in his hands was too fresh, too humiliating - but he still felt abandoned.

His scratches were already closing up, but he sat down next to Livia's patients. "Rough evening?"

She smiled at him. "No more so than yesterday. What's a giant attacking a Muggle army base in comparison to having to fight off a swarm of Dementors? Seaby and Templar here brought him in."

Muggle army base. The air in the hall was muggy from the heat of all the candles, but Draco felt cold. "Was he under orders?"

"Who knows? Lupin got Hagrid down to see if he could talk to him, but no one's dared to bring him round. I mean, we've just moved in - we don't want the place wrecked just yet."

Livia's sympathetic gaze swept over him. If her eyes lingered on the Dark Mark longer than was comfortable, at least she didn't say anything. Draco wavered between pride and practicality. After all, dignity was all very well, but sometimes acting a bit pathetic could yield better dividends, especially when it came to girls. And Livia was definitely a girl - older than him, but beautiful, with her copper skin and big dark eyes. All that it needed was a little hint of stiff-upper-lip barely being held in place, a slight hopelessness in the eyes…

Livia laughed. "You know, the sneer and the hard eyes suits you better," she said. She looked at him thoughtfully. "Though it might be no more truthful than the puppy-dog act you're trying to pull on me now."

Draco smiled despite himself. "Slytherin?" he asked.

"Ravenclaw," she said firmly, then conceded, "I dated a Slytherin boy in Sixth Year. I remember all the tricks."

"Not all tricks are bad, though, are they? Some tricks can be…fun."

"You're very cute, honey, but you're a little too young for me."

Draco shrugged. "It was worth a try." He was only slightly insulted.

"I'm flattered by the obvious intensity of your desire," Livia said wryly. "Sorry I can't return it. But I can get you food, new clothes and a bed to kip in - how does that sound? Better than sex?"

Draco thought about messy, painful kisses, hard fingers pressing into his skin, and hoped he wasn't blushing. And that hadn't even been sex - just getting off. "Depends on the sex," he said honestly.

She looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "Oh yes, the arrogance - I remember that too."

Harry followed Ron into a room thick with potions fumes. A map was spread out over the table, and Hermione was hunched over it - all Harry could see was her shoulders and a mane of bushy brown hair.

"I think this spell is a non-starter," Ron whispered, "but what do I know?"

Harry was torn. He hadn't seen Hagrid in weeks, but he was curious about this spell of Hermione's. He would have thought Dowsing was a bit too close to Divination for Hermione's comfort. 'All fuzzy thinking and guesswork' would be how she'd describe it. If they were at the point of trying fuzzy thinking and guesswork to find the Horcruxes, then they were in trouble.

And he hadn't even had the chance to tell them that the cup's trail had gone cold again - well, led to Snape, which was almost as bad. He kept quiet as Hermione dropped a handful of dust on the table and waved her wand. Perhaps this will work -

The dust built itself up into a ball - and flung itself straight for Harry's face.

While he was coughing and spluttering, trying to bat it away, he heard Ron laughing.

"Your glasses are a Horcrux, Harry!"

"I don't know what could have gone wrong." Hermione sounded more irritated than concerned, Harry noted sourly as he wiped the dust off his glasses, his eyes streaming. "Get out, both of you - I need to think about this."

"Back to the drawing board, Hermione," Ron said as they were shooed out. The slam of the door cut off her reply, but it didn't sound polite.

"So, what now?" he said to Harry. "Fancy getting some food - watch them trying to wake the giant?"

"I'll pass, thanks. I feel like I haven't slept in a week." The thoughts of bed and Draco weren't necessarily linked, but he remembered the other boy's expression as he'd stared at him in the ballroom. "There's just something I have to check on first."

But Draco wasn't in the ballroom when Harry got back downstairs. He located Livia in the crowd. Now that her job was done, she'd gone to watch the giant, a mixture of fascination and disgust on her face. She caught Harry's eye without his even hailing her, and made her way over.

"If you're looking for your friend, he's fed and watered and gone to bed."

"Oh."

"I can give you his room number if you like?"

For a moment Harry actually considered it. Then he thought of Draco's reaction if he woke him, and wondered just what he expected to do if he did. He flushed and shook his head - and walked away quickly before he could give in and ask for the number.

Draco stood on the rain-lashed parapet. The rain was almost a solid curtain, cutting off the castle from the rest of the world, but as the back sky was torn apart by lightning, he blinked water out of his eyes and saw the ships. In that one bright moment, before the gloom fell again, he thought he counted dozens of sails, a fleet stretching to the horizon.

The storm was almost on them - the crack of thunder that followed the lightning sounded like the fabric of the world being irreversibly torn apart. Evadne stepped up to the battlements beside him. She looked more like one of Cassiopeia's porcelain dolls than a fearsome witch, but as her tiny hands gripped the stone and she stared out into the storm, hair and robes whipped into wild shapes by the wind, Draco reminded himself of the legends, and was suitably scared.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She didn't look at him. "To live," she hissed into the wind. "For my family to be great again. And for this," she made a grand gesture out into the storm, "to never happen again." One small hand made a fist, and Draco heard the venom in her voice and was glad he couldn't see her face. "I will not let it happen again."

She turned. Draco looked past the pale hair tangled across her face, into eyes that were a gateway to another storm -

He woke, into sweltering heat and the overwhelming smell of saltwater and decay. Her voice followed him out of the dream, "love is such a selfish, pathetic reason to die."

Then the voice, and the smell, were gone. Draco struggled up into a sitting position, skin slick with sweat, his brain struggling slightly as it adjusted to reality. Light was creeping in through the gaps in the wood blocking the window, but it didn't improve the appearance of the dingy room. The wood prevented much air getting in from outside, despite his opening the old sash windows as far as they could go, and the heat in the room felt like a solid thing pressing down on him.

He was also alone. Being in a bed was disorientating enough after weeks of sleeping on the floor with only cushions for comfort, but the solitude felt even stranger…almost threatening. Even in the woods he'd had Potter watching over him as he slept.

Love is such a selfish, pathetic reason to die. Well, she'd have no arguments from him on that one. Stating the obvious or what, oh supposedly wise and powerful ancestor?

The hot, stale air wasn't satisfying to breathe. The sound of the sea drifting in through the open window sounded like Evadne's voice continuing to whisper even outside his dreams, and he wanted no more of that, thanks.

His feet had barely touched the floor when he noticed the soft blue glow coming from his shed jeans. On investigation, he fished the St Christopher from the pocket, a date and time scrawled across its surface in Snape's spiky handwriting.

So, Draco might have forgotten about the St Christopher, but Snape hadn't forgotten about him. He didn't know whether to be glad or concerned. After all, the only intelligence he had to pass on was the Order's new hideout, which Snape probably knew about already, given his past form.

What does he want from me?

It was a pointless question. Draco couldn't answer it, and Snape was as likely to give him a straight answer as Evadne was. Though at least Snape didn't come to him in his dreams…now that was a terrible thought.

He was thoroughly sick of both of them, he decided as he slipped the St Christopher around his neck, its glow fading now that the message had been delivered. He put on the fresh clothes Livia had provided. More Muggle clothes, though at least these fit better.

But a better fit might not be a good thing. Draco was certain the problems he'd being having with Potter had all started with those tight Muggle trousers and flimsy shirt. Though Potter had stared at him almost as much when he was wearing robes…perhaps he'd been wondering what Draco looked like beneath them…

Well, he certainly knows now, doesn't he? And what I feel like. And what I fucking taste like… Shame I can't say the same -

He ended the thought right there. He didn't want to know what Potter looked like naked. He didn't want to know if that tan was the same colour over all his body, or got progressively lighter and lighter - his arms and face and neck dark from the sun, his legs and torso merely golden, while his most intimate places -

The door slammed behind Draco as he left the room. Potter's possible tan-lines were not important intelligence - nor was anything else about his body. He needed something to give Snape - something more relevant than "Potter's good with his hands." Even the mere thought of that conversation made him die a little inside.

Useful intelligence. As he walked down the corridor, he heard women's voices behind one of the doors - Granger's, and another voice that was somehow familiar, but wasn't clear enough for him to put a name to it. That Granger was closeted in her room with another girl might be 'useful intelligence' to Weasley, but it wasn't to him. He kept walking.

The public rooms of the hotel were deserted, the candles which had lit the ballroom the night before burned down to little pools of wax, the air thick and smoky. The giant was gone, but its weight had left an imprint in the previously smooth wooden floor.

Draco had just about given up on finding out anything useful, and was wandering through the dining room with the idea of risking a walk outside - there might be Muggles out there, but there was also fresh air - when he hit the jackpot.

"I trust Mordecai about as far as I can throw him."

The doors to the kitchens hung open, and for all Moody's talk of 'constant vigilance', he never seemed to speak in less than a shout. As Draco moved quietly over to the doors, he heard Lupin's reply.

"Neither do I, but the Shards are proving to be very useful. They're not offering anything but a sanctuary for a few Muggle-borns - just Muggle-borns, no 'dissenters' or 'half-breeds'. If Mordecai was offering to throw his entire family's lot in with the Order, I'd be a lot more suspicious. Odd as it seems, it is possible to look down on someone without thinking they deserve to die or live as slaves."

Moody snorted. Draco risked a look around the door. Lupin and Moody were alone in the once-great kitchen, bits of parchment spread over one of the work-surfaces. Lupin was sipping at more of his tea; Moody had a bottle of fire whisky, and as he poured it out into his glass, he peered at it suspiciously and moved his wand over the top of the glass.

Probably checking someone hasn't poisoned it since the last glass - mad old bastard…

"Vavassur? You can't tell me he's seen the error of his ways?"

"Last time around old Cain tried to keep a foot in both camps, keeping his options open. His son's just following his example."

Draco filed the names away for future reference. In the past, he would have condemned them as blood-traitors - now he couldn't even summon up a bit of hate, just disbelief. The Shards and the Vavassurs were very much of the same class and mind-set as the Malfoys - they could never be accused of being Muggle-lovers, even if they weren't active supporters of the Dark Lord. He remembered the feeling of dislocation Flavia Hamilton's presence amongst the Aurors had given him. The world was a more complicated place than he'd been brought up to believe.

The thought should have frightened him, but instead it gave him a flicker of hope.

"Cain was a wily old fox -"

Draco couldn't see the expression on Lupin's face, but he did see his back stiffen. Moody stopped talking and narrowed his eyes.

The best thing for Draco to do would just be to walk in and say hello. Act innocent, pretend he hadn't overheard anything -

He didn't get the chance. Lupin's chair crashed to the floor as he ran to the doors. Draco took an automatic step back and bumped into Moody as he Apparated behind him. His hand clamped down on Draco's shoulder.

Right - this calls for some seriously fast talking -

"Well?" Granger's voice rang out in the sudden silence. "Was there pumpkin juice in the kitchen, or did you decide that a wild goose chase would be just the thing to get you out of helping with this potion?" Draco twisted in Moody's grip to look at her as she swept across the dining room like a harpy out for blood. "God knows how you got such good marks at school, Malfoy - you're so lazy."

Both Lupin and Moody stared at her, but her irritated expression was all for Draco, and he could recognise a helping hand when he saw one. Even if he didn't know why it was offered. "I haven't had the chance to look yet," he protested, "these two leapt on me. And I'm not lazy! I can't help it if I don't have to work hard. I'm just naturally brilliant at everything."

"Pumpkin juice," Lupin repeated, sounding amused.

Draco shrugged. "Thirsty work, brewing potions." Just don't ask me what potions we're working on.

"There's probably some in the pantry." Draco nodded, careful to keep his expression blank as he met Lupin's eyes. "I think we should take our conversation elsewhere, Alastor."

Moody glared at Draco and reluctantly let him go. Draco's shoulder was numb; as he watched the two men walk off he massaged it back into life and waited for Granger to state her price for helping him.

"So, are you just nosy, or is it something more sinister?" She waved off his explanations. "I don't care, Malfoy. But other people might, if I tell them about this. Harry, for example."

Draco crossed his arms and prepared to bargain. This was reassuringly familiar territory. "What do you want?"

"The Library of Walpurgis. I need to go there."

"Never heard of it."

"1782 - the Ministry of the time ban the practice of the Dark Arts. 1783 - they attempt to regulate the possession of Dark Arts-related literature. That year the Library of Walpurgis is founded. The deal - pass your now-illegal books into the possession of Adrastos Akunin and he'll guarantee you and your descendents access to his 'library of evil'."

"'Library of Evil?'" Draco laughed; Granger didn't even flinch. "Have you been reading the Quibbler?" She just looked at him. Of course, the Library of Walpurgis did exist, just as she'd described it - but who the hell had told her about it? 'Library of Evil' - sanctimonious bitch. Not that it mattered - she'd got him metaphorically by the balls in impressively Slytherin style, and they both knew it. "Fine. Fuck it. As it happens, my family did donate books to the Library."

"So you can take me there as your guest?"

Draco looked at her, at her bare arms and trousers cut off above the knee, at the Muggleness oozing out of every pore, and shook his head. "Not with you looking like that. The Library has standards."

Harry was woken by vigorous shaking and a birthday present being tapped against his head. He groped for his glasses. As he slipped them on, the vague impression of pale faces and red hair turned into Ron, Fred and George.

"Happy Birthday, mate."

Harry ignored the heat and gathered the sheets up against his chest. They stank of his sweat - and something more embarrassing - but all three Weasleys seemed cheerfully oblivious. Awkward as he felt, he fumbled at the wrapping paper. Inside was a box with the words 'Gamp's patented Action Duellist!' printed across it in flashing letters, illustrated with a picture of what was obviously supposed to be a fearsome-looking wizard. He grimaced and posed; Harry decided he just looked constipated. Draco could exude more menace than that without even moving.

He read the back. "Hone your duelling skills against a fearsome opponent! Just add water and a simple animating charm to bring your Gamp's Action Duellist to realistic and fighting life!"

Ron shrugged and coloured slightly. "I got you something better - I mean, this birthday is the big one, isn't it - but it was destroyed at the Schoolhouse and -"

"It's great. Really." So this was what being seventeen felt like…exactly like being sixteen. A week ago this day had seemed so important…

Fred grinned and tossed another parcel into Harry's lap. "Well, we were lazy and forgot to get you anything."

Harry peeled back the paper to reveal a packet of Pink 'n' Whites.

"The Muggle girl in the shop -"

"Jenny."

"Jenny said they were almost pure sugar. Sugar's good."

"We got some for Dad, too - he'll appreciate them."

"Actual Muggle junk food," Harry said. "He'll love them." Though Mrs Weasley probably won't. He ran his fingers over the plastic. He'd never had Pink 'n' Whites as a kid, though Dudley had loved them until he'd seen the 'less than 2 percent fat' label.

"If you're nice to us, there's a box of stuff set aside for you at the shop -"

"- as long as it hasn't been looted by the time we get back there."

Ron produced a carefully wrapped box. "This was outside your door - I think it's from Hermione."

There was a piece of paper slipped under the ribbon. Harry unfolded it and read the note out loud: "I'm following a lead. Don't worry about me. I'm perfectly safe. I'm with Malfoy -"

Ron snatched the paper from Harry's hands. "How can going off alone with Malfoy possibly be safe?"

"Well, I've done it," Harry said, "and I'm still alive."

"Yeah, but you've been acting really weird. And what's this supposed to mean?" He read on, "'I'm with Malfoy - so don't worry about him either.' Why would you worry about Malfoy?"

Harry chose to ignore that question. "Hermione can handle Draco."

"Draco?" The name sounded odd coming from Ron's mouth, even with the contempt and disbelief he managed to load into just those two syllables. "Since when did you two get so cosy?"

Harry didn't know whether to squirm or explode. He opened the packet of Pink 'n' Whites, took out one wafer and started to pull it apart, carefully holding down both the embarrassment and the anger. "We have saved each other's lives a few times," he said mildly. "I trust him."

"You -" Ron stared at him in disbelief, obviously searching for words. "But - it's Malfoy!"

"You've missed a bit, dear," the mirror said.

Draco saw the lock of hair it was referring to and smoothed it back. He looked in the mirror and liked what he saw. For the first time in days he was properly dressed - fully dressed. His robe was high-necked and long-sleeved and made of silk almost as thick as parchment - if it felt heavy and restricting after the barely-there Muggle clothes, well, that was the point. It was dignified. And his hair was slicked back so firmly that no one would even think to play with it.

He was a powerful wizard from an ancient family, not some toy to be ogled and groped and sighed over.

He lifted his chin. His reflection looked back at him haughtily.

Yes, that was definitely better.

Mother's certainly taking her time with Granger. But however long it took, she had to look respectable to go to the Library. Akunin hadn't left its four walls in centuries - Draco couldn't even imagine what the old librarian would make of Granger's 'shorts'. Even a glimpse of collarbone gives him the need to go bite something.

He moved over to the window. The past couple of times he'd been to the Calchas Square apartment, the little park in the square had been full of witches and wizards enjoying the summer sun - now it was eerily quiet.

All his mother had had to say on the subject was "proscriptions", which hardly explained anything.

Narcissa Malfoy had barely flinched when her son had Apparated into the parlour with Hermione Granger in tow. She'd finished her breakfast, and expended a small amount of rather cool concern over Granger's appearance, until Draco had told her that no, she hadn't been attacked, she'd just chosen to dress that way. Granger had announced that she was a Muggleborn with the air of someone prodding at a bruise to see when the pain would come; Narcissa's response to that had been a small smile and a calm "how unfortunate, dear". As if Granger was admitting to having some minor but unsightly disease. Mother's amazing.

"Not that I want to seem unwelcoming, but I don't think it's wise for you two stay here much longer. In my last communication with Severus he did mention something about you turning traitor…"

Draco turned and smiled at his mother. "It's a long story."

"I'm sure it is. Your aunt is after your blood."

Bellatrix, of course; they never spoke about the other one. "I'm sure she is. Has Snape told you the full story?"

"Apparently you were swept off your feet by Harry Potter," Narcissa said, apparently oblivious to the colour Draco could feel spreading across his cheeks. "Be careful, Draco - that is exactly how your father and I got together."

"Mother!" Then the embarrassment faded somewhat as he saw the curl of Narcissa's lips. "Please, don't even joke about that."

"I'm the one trapped here while my husband and son play power games," she said coldly, "with only Severus and Bella to stop the Dark Lord's vengeance turning in my direction - I'll joke about whatever I please. Your friend is waiting in the hall." Draco nodded, for once in his life unsure of what to say. "I like her. Extremely unfortunate parents, but I like her."

"You're not checking out my future bride, Mother."

"That's one small mercy at least."

Draco followed his mother out into the hall. He barely recognised the girl standing there.

Granger's hair had been tamed and bound with ribbons into a complicated bun. Her dark green robes were the essence of discrete, respectable elegance. He didn't know if it was some natural skill at pretence, or the combination of the robe's high neck and her heavy hair-do, but her back was straight and her head held high.

"Very good. No one would ever know that you were a M-" He stopped himself; he could do better than such a generic insult.

Granger smiled at him, but the expression in her eyes had daggers in it. She knew exactly what he'd been about to say. "I believe the 'M' word you're looking for is 'Muggle-born'," she said sweetly.

"Of course it was," Narcissa said.

As Draco stepped past her, her fingers closed around his arm. "I do wish you and your father would keep me better informed," she said lightly. "I wouldn't mind knowing what side we're currently on."

"Neither would I," Draco replied with feeling.

Her grip tightened slightly. "Take care, Draco. Do try not to make any more enemies."

"I'd worry more about Draco than Hermione," Lupin said. "If he says something she doesn't like…"

George beamed and nudged his brother. "She'll hex his balls off." The whisper carried; Ron seemed to think about it and deflated slightly. Harry was relieved. Ron's constant litany of reasons Draco couldn't be trusted had started while Harry was getting washed and dressed, and had lasted until they got down into the dining room. The worst thing was that Harry agreed with half of it, and wasn't sure who he was being more disloyal to, Ron or Draco.

"That would just be for starters," a bright voice announced. "We girls pass each other some really interesting curses." Harry turned to see Ginny standing in the doorway. She gave him a sunny smile - it turned into a frown as her brothers pounced on her.

"What are you doing here? It's not safe."

"And ferrying people to safe houses is?" She pulled a face. "You get to hide out in a fancy hotel. I get to have Death Eaters and their Enforcers rooting through my underwear drawer for Muggle-borns and 'dissidents'."

Fred clapped her on the shoulder. "You're fighting the good fight, Ginny. Next time, try putting a mouse trap or two in there."

"Or a pair of y-fronts," George added. "Watch the pervs go mad trying to figure it out."

Harry tried to signal sympathy with his eyes. Ginny met his gaze; her next smile was weaker.

"This is fun," she said, "but I'm really here to see Prof-, I mean, Lupin. Mum's heard from Tonks."

Draco signed his name in the book, adding 'plus guest' with an extra flourish. As the book was pulled back and the grill closed, Draco leaned against the wall and looked over at Granger. The confident act she'd been putting on was deteriorating with every delay. Waiting around in a narrow alleyway off the only Wizarding street in York, with two gargoyles leering at him, wasn't his idea of fun either, but her restlessness was amusing.

"When we go in there, try to tone down that holier-than-thou attitude. I don't even want to imagine what Akunin's reaction would be if you started to refer to his pride and joy as a 'library of evil'. It's not so cut-and-dried as we're taught in school. A lot of the forms of magic relegated to 'the Dark Arts' are powerful and subtle, some of them are disciplines older than wand-craft, and they're all capable of being used for good rather than evil."

Granger seemed almost startled. Probably wondering why I'm lecturing her on magic. Well, she might have been ahead of me at school, but this is one area where I know a lot more than her. "You sound like Professor Snape," she said eventually. "Next you're going to tell me there are 'good' uses for the Unforgiveables."

Draco could have ignored the challenge, but he didn't. He shrugged. "The Killing Curse is the most quick and painless way of ending life ever invented. Euthanasia? Pest control?"

Granger's eyes narrowed. "Are those two linked in your head? What about Cruciatus and Imperius?"

Draco gave her his most angelic smile. "Sometimes people need a little encouragement to do the right thing?"

The door swung open. The robes gave her sweep past him extra majesty. "More moral people think 'encouragement' should be done with persuasion rather than mind control and torture."

"Persuasion?" Draco said dismissively as he followed her down the narrow staircase. "Even Muggles can master that - bribery and blackmail are hardly complex magical arts."

Granger was smart. She glared at him for a moment then shook her head. "That could have been quite an interesting discussion, but you just had to go and ruin it by trying to tease me." Her eyes glinted. "I'm disappointed, really."

"I do apologise." Just as the staircase seemed like it could get no narrower and remain passable, it opened out, and they stepped out onto a room as large and bright as a cathedral. The air was stale and dry and smelled like old books, but Draco gulped it in gratefully.

He heard Granger draw in a quick breath too, but he was sure hers wasn't due to relief from claustrophobia. She was awed - and she had every right to be.

As far as Draco knew, the Library was under the river. The light that streamed in through the room's giant windows had the swirling luminosity he associated with water. The windows were stained glass, and threw a thousand points of colour over the towering bookcases, the wall's mahogany panelling and the polished leather tops of the working desks. Moving colour, because the pictures in the stained glass changed as you watched. Every new visitor to the Library stared at the windows first, and Granger was certainly staring.

"Master Malfoy." The man approaching them between the desks didn't have a face made for smiling, but he was certainly attempting one. "How nice of you to visit. And who's your charming friend?"

"Mr Akunin, meet Flavia Hamilton. Flavia, meet Adrastos Akunin."

Granger didn't even twitch at her new name. She extended a gracious hand to Akunin, who pressed his leathery lips against it.

"Delighted, my dear."

Crack. Granger Disapparated, leaving Akunin clutching at thin air. Then she was back, smiling brightly and gripping her bag. "Sorry. I forgot my quills and ink."

Akunin sniffed. "We provide all writing materials here. Please don't Apparate within the Library - the noise distracts the other users."

"Sorry."

"Very well. You may use this desk, Miss Hamilton. Just write the subject you're researching on the request slip, and the relevant books will be brought to you. Please don't wander into the stacks on your own - some of the books are rather dangerous."

"Thanks. And I am sorry about the Apparition, Mr Akunin. It won't happen again."

Draco watched Granger with curiosity. Surely she spent enough time in libraries to know not to do something like that in the first place. Unless…

She was just testing, to see if she could Apparate out of here…

"You haven't got any wards?" Draco asked. He didn't bother to remove the disbelief from his voice. "Is that carelessness or arrogance?"

"Neither," Akunin said, a trace of smugness in his voice. "No one would be stupid enough to steal from me. Of the two who were - well, shall we say they were encouraged to return the items. And they did, promptly."

Listen to him, Granger - forget whatever stupid scheme you might have. Akunin's had all these books in his possession for centuries - fuck knows what his idea of 'encouragement' is…

Surprise, surprise - Granger wasn't telepathic. But she was planning something. She watched Akunin intently as he moved over to a cabinet, stroked the glass and almost cooed over the contents. "This athame for example. One of my most prized possessions." His eyes glinted as he looked at Draco. "I believe it was used to kill one of your ancestors?"

"I wouldn't know," Draco said calmly. Granger followed Akunin over to the cabinet.

"It was gone only three days." Akunin shook his head. "The thief was from such a good old family, too. A very powerful young wizard. It was so sad he resorted to theft - I would have been glad to lend it to him."

"Is that a crest on the pommel?" Granger sounded just too interested - and Draco was starting to get suspicious. Fortunately Akunin was too busy soaking up the attention to do the same.

"It is indeed, my dear. The personal crest of Rowena Ravenclaw - the heroine to all of us who desire knowledge for knowledge's sake."

"How wonderful," Granger sighed, and Akunin preened. Draco decided to have a word with her about her over-acting. When it came to buttering someone up, less was often more. "But you said it was used to kill someone? How is that possible?"

Akunin tapped his long nose. "I will tell you that story the next time you visit me."

"You shouldn't be here, Harry." Tonks' hair was back to mousy brown, and she had black rings under her eyes. She'd responded to Harry and Lupin's arrival with more horror than enthusiasm. "Neither of you should be here. I thought Molly would just tell you I was safe, not send you around here to fetch me." She moved to the window and peered through the curtains. "You could have been seen."

"By who?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything. That's the problem! The last thing I remember is being recalled to the Ministry. Ask me where I've been, what was done to me, why I seem to be the only Auror left alive…I don't know!" Her mother squeezed her shoulder gently.

"They're here, Nymphadora, and there's nothing you can do about that now. Why don't we discuss this over some tea?"

Harry studied the woman he'd been introduced to as Andromeda Tonks. He didn't know what he'd been expecting her to be like, this Black sister who'd defied her family for the sake of love. A rebel? A cuddly, warm woman like Mrs Weasley? She was neither. He looked at her thin, fine-boned face, listened to her cool voice, and could see only the sister of Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, not the woman who'd broken with her family to marry a Muggle-born. She met his gaze with calm blue eyes.

"Tea would be nice," Harry said quickly, suddenly self-conscious. Andromeda didn't call him out on his staring, but her lips twitched as if she was secretly amused. It was a painfully familiar expression.

"You don't understand," Tonks said to Lupin. "Perhaps I gave away my position in the Order under torture. Perhaps I was released for a reason. It's not safe for me to be around you - any of you."

"We need you," Lupin said. Their fingers touched, then entwined together. Harry hurried after Andromeda as she swept into the parlour. One flick of her wand and a silver tea service appeared on the occasional table, the pieces jostling for position. "Harry needs you - you've done such a good job protecting him in the past."

Andromeda raised one fine eyebrow; Harry shrugged. "I can protect myself," he said softly. But I'll go along with it if it gets Tonks back.

"I'm sure," she replied calmly, starting to pour the tea.

"At the moment the main thing he needs protecting from is your cousin's evil influence." Lupin's jovial tone sounded slightly off, and Tonks' laughter sounded just as false.

"Dear me," Andromeda said, putting three spoons of sugar in her tea, "what has little Draco been doing now?"

"I don't know when you last saw him, Andromeda," Lupin said as he and Tonks came into the room, no longer holding hands, "but he's not so little anymore. He's old enough to have both taken the Dark Mark and seen the error of his ways. Apparently."

"I'm surprised Narcissa allowed that," Andromeda said quietly.

"Allowed it?" Harry said. "She was probably proud of Draco following in his father's footsteps - and really pissed off when he changed sides."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Those three softly spoken words stopped Harry dead in his tracks. He belatedly remembered who he was talking to. Estranged or not, Narcissa was still Andromeda's sister.

"I'm sorry."

Harry got the impression he'd amused her again. "You speak your mind - it's an uncomfortable habit, but not a bad one." She peered at him. "You seem to be a sweet boy - are you really friends with my nephew?"

"It's hard to imagine, isn't it?" Lupin said, and he sounded as amused as Andromeda. "But they seem to have formed quite a bond."

Harry felt a flush rising in his cheeks, and gave Lupin his best glare. He found Andromeda's disconcertingly intelligent gaze fixed on his face. "We're friends," he said firmly. And the day I don't have to explain that, and everyone just takes it for granted, will probably be the day the world ends.

Draco leaned against the panelling and looked up at the pictures forming in the window above him. Most stained glass celebrated mythology, or great deeds done in times long past - the builders of the Library had obviously considered that passé. They were more ambitious - the Library's stained glass showed great deeds yet to be done.

He watched the fragments of coloured glass reform. It showed him an image of two robed figures standing before a wall of burning parchment, then a statue holding a chalice, then a pack of wolves running beneath high chalk cliffs, then a single white wolf, its mouth dripping with blood, howling at the sun, and he started to feel slightly uncomfortable. Divination was a famously inaccurate branch of the magical arts, especially when you added bespelled inanimate objects into the mix, but the Library's windows were generally regarded as the Real Thing.

Of course, you had to be destined to perform great deeds for them to show you your future, and Draco hoped that let him off. All he wanted to do was survive, so this future had to belong to someone else in the Library.

He looked about. Apart from the glass clicking together as the images changed, the only sounds came from the whirring clockwork wings of the brass birds bringing books to Granger's desk, and the scratching of her quill across parchment. They were alone in the Library now.

Granger seemed to notice she was being watched. She looked up, but her eyes didn't go to Draco, they fixed on something above his head.

He glanced up - and saw a new picture in the glass.

He should have focused on the burning castle apparently falling into the sea, but all he could look at were the two figures in the foreground. The stained glass didn't do faces very well, but it did do hair and skin colours - and, fuck, yes, Potter's got tan lines - and it had made a horrifyingly good job of the figures' entwined limbs and the blood staining their skin.

Draco felt the heat rushing to his face. He met Granger's horrified eyes and was suddenly furious. What the fuck does she have to be horrified about? It's not her fucking future!

"We're leaving," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. His voice sounded much too loud in the quiet room, and he saw Akunin glance his way.

Granger nodded slowly, stuffing the parchments into her bag, her eyes flicking between Draco and the window. He looked up again, feeling like a sucker for punishment, but the lovers had gone, replaced by a brown-haired girl in rich robes and an ivory tiara, book in one hand, blunted knife in the other…

There was a crash, and the tinkling of broken glass. He tore his eyes away from the window just in time to see Granger catch Ravenclaw's athame in her hand. She had one of the books under her arm as she Disapparated.

Shit…

This time she wouldn't be coming back, and Akunin had obviously decided Draco was her partner in crime. His lips peeled back from long fangs, and he scuttled towards Draco -

- who followed Granger's lead and Disapparated, praying to any deity that might be listening.

Please let Granger know what she's doing…

Please let the glass be wrong…

A/N - more of the boys together next chapter, I promise! X