Spirits were low at Hogwarts. Luna did not meet Catherine's eye as the four girls walked back up to the castle after a disappointingly short Quidditch match.

Slytherin had, once again, won the Quidditch Cup in spite of Gryffindor's spectacular showing, and Catherine and Ginny were fuming.

Perhaps their prank could have stopped it, but Luna believed that Professor Snape would have managed to get a postponement somehow. It wasn't like they were going to do something big enough to end Draco's Quidditch career. Catherine wouldn't have wanted that, anyway.

Luna did not say anything. She thought about making a comment, but it didn't seem right. Catherine would be upset, and Ginny was certainly upset, and after a few hours they would be cooled down enough to be distracted from their pain. But for the moment, for the moment there was no consoling them.

And Rhea was trembling.

Professor Flitwick, kindly Professor Flitwick had interviewed all of his students who had been present during the hallway brawl, and Rhea had not taken it well. That Penelope and Hermione were still dealing with the aftereffects of their unfortunate situation was very heavy on both girls' consciences, but Rhea was taking it especially hard for some reason. Luna felt bad, but no permanent damage was done, and it wasn't as though they could have foreseen that a tap-dancing jinx would cause such chaos.

Really, it was Catherine's fault for starting this whole mess. It put everyone on edge, kept everyone expecting the worse when spells flew in the corridors. Luna told herself firmly as they stepped back inside the castle that she wasn't going to do it again. Friendship was nice, and important, but if Ginny and Catherine would persist in pushing the other two into this madness, at least Luna would always have Rhea. Rhea, sweet Rhea, who reminded Luna of her father with his need to be watched over and cared for.

Luna blinked as she mounted the marble staircase. Apart from letters, she hadn't given her father much thought of late. Was he alright? The Quibbler had been coming out as usual, and still with her father's name at the top. Perhaps he wasn't eating well, or sleeping as much as he should, but she knew that at least he was alive and writing.

Luna and Rhea said words of parting to Ginny as they went in different directions, toward their separate towers, and Rhea said softly, "I feel responsible."

"You're not. It wasn't our business anyway."

"Why d'you think Kitty wanted Gryffindor to win so badly? I mean, Ginny I understand, but Kitty doesn't really have anything against Slytherin."

The girls walked in silence for some time, but Luna expected it was all more complicated than that. Catherine didn't hate Harry Potter. From what Luna could tell over Christmas, they were actually very close. And that was the real puzzle. Why keep almost killing or maiming people who weren't involved just to win a war against someone they really didn't have any problems with?

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Rubbing his forehead and desperately trying to ignore his sister, Jason breathed in through his nose and sharply pushed it out.

"Please."

He really didn't want to take her dare. He knew that they would get into more trouble than either of them could possibly imagine. There were certain rooms that were off-limits – though not many – and certain things they weren't to touch, and while their father and mother were very forgiving, Jason knew from the tone of their father's voice when such things were discussed that this was not something likely to be forgiven.

"Caro, no. Let's just leave it."

"You're no fun. Kitty would do it."

Somehow, Jason doubted that, but then he had to wonder. Catherine could often be goaded into any number of irresponsible and ill-advised things.

"Don't be a coward, Jason."

His nostrils flared, he snatched up a candle, and he led the way stiffly to their father's study, ignoring Caroline's chirps of triumph.

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Satisfied.

Draco was satisfied at the win, and how his parents had been there to see him hold up the Quidditch Cup. Hopefully, the points earned toward the House Cup would secure it for Slytherin this year.

He would have liked to have longer with his mother, but the few moments he had would have to be sufficient. He did notice, bitterly, the angry look on Catherine's face as she passed him. He supposed she wanted Gryffindor to win the Cup, for her father. As he walked toward the Slytherin Common Room, he felt a strange tingling on the back of his neck. Although he didn't hear anyone behind him, someone was there.

"I hope you enjoyed the match, Adra," he said, figuring no one else he knew was that silent.

His cousin walked in step with him, her head tossed back slightly.

"It was a good win," she said, "and quick, which is always best. Have you spoken to Catherine lately?"

"You see her more often than I do."

Her nostrils flared slightly, and he knew he'd hit a nerve. However often the two girls saw each other throughout their routines, he knew that Catherine had fully replaced Adrasteia with her new friends, and Adrasteia was not taking this well.

The girl said nothing as they walked into the Common Room.

"I need a favor," he said softly.

"I don't give favors. What do I get out of whatever it is?"

"I'll do your Charms essay."

"I'm listening."

His jaw twitched with irritated amusement.

"I need someone to keep me company, keep Parkinson at bay." The way Adrasteia's expression tightened for the briefest of moments told him that he found Pansy just as disagreeable. "You can join me and Blaise by the fireplace, and be my excuse for telling her to bugger off."

"What good does my presence do?" Adrasteia asked, curious.

Draco said nothing. Slytherins didn't learn their art by asking and answering. They learned by looking and listening. She would learn soon enough, and it wasn't his burden to consider. She joined him at the fireplace with no argument.

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James didn't have a problem with Dumbledore, but it always made him uncomfortable to have the man in his house. Once he poured them both tea, he waited anxiously for some kind of explanation for the visit, especially visiting while Lily was at work.

"Harry will no doubt tell you soon," Dumbledore said after a long drink of his tea, "that Gryffindor has again lost the Quidditch Cup."

"Damn," James hissed, disappointed. He had been praying that Slytherin wouldn't pull it out, but those stupid brooms Lucius bought weren't anything to sniff at. He wondered if he could get away with buying brooms for the Gryffindor team. Surely Lily would understand.

"But that is not why I am here today. I am here because I am concerned about the behavior of certain students. Has anyone told you about what the students are calling the Great Prank War?"

At this, James perked up with interest. He wasn't sure what exactly it meant, but he rather liked the sound of it. He shook his head, and listened with great interest to Dumbledore describe what had started as innocent pranking between two cliques (didn't take many guesses which cliques) and had grown into something completely out of control.

James's excitement melted and wilted slightly. Harry and Catherine had taken their silly feud and it went out of control. Unfortunately, he didn't think either of them would stop and think until they were effected directly.

They had too much of their fathers and not enough of their mothers in them.

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Hermione tried not to think about how the common room felt like a funeral. Ginny had retreated to her dormitory, and after watching anxiously after her for a few minutes, Colin Creevey had retreated up to his own dormitory. Hermione had thought about going up to see Ginny, but she didn't feel ready to climb the stairs without support yet. Mostly, she was fine, except sometimes she got unsteady, and staircases still made her nervous.

"It's really not fair," Hermione said bracingly. "He's not even that good. He's just got a rich father."

"He's not that bad," Harry said darkly, running his fingers anxiously through his hair. "No, there's no one to blame but me. I didn't play to my best ability this year."

"You've been a bit distracted," Neville said darkly.

A chilling silence fell over the group sitting by the window, and Harry looked out on the grounds. Hermione ached to ask him if it was worth it, this stupid fight with Catherine Black, but even if it had been the right time to ask, it wouldn't have come out right after everything she'd suffered from the stupid Great Prank War.

Neville understood; she could see it in his eyes when they shared a glance. This had to stop, and it had to stop soon. There was only so much of this any friendship could take.

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Severus was just pouring himself a celebratory drink when he heard a knock at the door to his quarters. He frowned.

"Enter."

Remus came in, his eyes gold and flashing. He was coming to get his potion, of course, and Severus gestured to the steaming goblet nearby, but once Remus had downed it with a pulled face he said, "We need to talk."

"Oh?"

"About Kitty."

Severus sighed and nodded, downing his own drink in one before sitting down with Remus Lupin. It just would be Sirius Black's child causing so much trouble. It just would have to be.

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Blaise didn't exactly dislike Adrasteia Lestrange, but she wasn't the kind of girl he wanted to spend time with. She was the sort of girl Draco thought was worthwhile, someone self-assured and "classy" (which was code, Blaise thought, for snooty). Blaise was much more interested in girls who could make a joke about themselves, have a bit of fun, laugh. He was especially interested in girls who didn't mind getting a bit dirty, else what was the point in them? Women didn't exist to live in a glass box. They were just as human as anyone else.

To him, Adrasteia wasn't a girl, but a collector's doll, an idea of what a girl should be. It didn't seem natural, and it didn't seem comfortable, and when he wasn't exasperated with her, he felt a bit sorry for her. It couldn't be pleasant, living for everyone who was watching.

Still, her presence kept away Pansy, and she was vastly preferable to Pansy Parkinson. Even just by being better looking, she improved the atmosphere.

"So why are you agreeing to sit with us?" he finally asked.

"Draco's agreed to…aid me in Charms."

Blaise's lips twitched at the blatant offer to cheat for her. Draco must have had more issues with Pansy than Blaise realized, if he was willing to take such extreme measures so soon. They had five years left with the girl. He couldn't do all of Adrasteia's assignments for the next five years in Charms, although perhaps the notion seemed agreeable now. Blaise would have to have words with his friend on the matter.

"Did you enjoy the match?" she asked in that charming, silly way women spoken when they wanted to seem cultured. Blaise's mother was one of the few women who could pull off such a voice, and coming from a young girl it just sounded absurd.

"I don't care much for Quidditch," Blaise said honestly, glancing at a smirking Draco. "I imagine you don't, either?"

"Oh, you imagine correctly," Adrasteia said, her brow eyes flashing with amusement. "But I happen to love winning."

Sometimes the upper echelons of pureblood society made Blaise laugh. They judged his mother for her behavior, which no one could prove and she had been completely acquitted of each time she became a widow again. They smiled about it to her face or Blaise's face, but he knew they were all talking about it, scandalized behind his back. But here they were, just as bad. They would do anything to win, to be on top, to get their prizes.

Some of them had, in the war.

What right did Adrasteia, or Draco, or any other elite person have to judge the Zabini clan? Surely their parents had done terrible things during the war, worse than anything his mother had allegedly done.

Blaise accepted a thimble of gin from one of the older students distributing minute quantities of alcohol to younger students to celebrate the big win.

Adrasteia Lestrange downed hers in one, and Blaise frowned, sipping his slowly, feeling the burn in the back of his throat.

Hypocrites, all.

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It seemed, in the months since Christmas, that Cora Prewett's mother had a new lease on life. Not to say that she wasn't still hideously busy with whatever project she was working on, but there was a new spring in her step, a new sense of mastery.

Cora had seen this before. It meant, she had come to understand, that whatever the primary and most dangerous obstacle had been, it was cleared away and the rest of the path to the end goal was a dawdle by comparison. Cora liked to think that her mother was conquering some grand evil, but the thought also scared her, so she told herself that whatever her mother was up to now, it was small and manageable and perfectly reasonable.

Uncle Gideon visited for dinner one night and Cora asked him if he felt better about things. He knew what she meant, and he tweaked her nose lovingly.

"Never you worry about your mum, Cora," he told her kindly. "She's one of the greatest witches of her time, you know."

"Mum?" Cora said, perking up with interest. "Really?"

"Order of Merlin."

"How?"

He smiled sadly and said, "I expect she'll tell you someday, when you're older. No, don't give me that lip, missy. It's not my story to tell. Let's play gobstones, eh? What d'you think? Go get your siblings."

Cora did as she was told, but for many months she would turn over her uncle's cryptic statement and wonder what her mother could have done to earn such a big honor.

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Narcissa sat at the end of the long dining room table at Malfoy Manor, watching her husband as he sat smugly at the other end, smirking to himself. She had half a mind to remind him that it wasn't his brooms that won the match, but the talent of the Slytherin Chasers. Narcissa wasn't especially proficient in Quidditch, but a few fewer scores from Marcus Flint and Gryffindor would certainly have won, brooms or no brooms.

Still, she was pleased that Slytherin had won, both as a Slytherin and as the mother of the Seeker. Never mind that her husband had blatantly bought Draco's way onto the team. She was fairly certain he would have gotten the position anyway, and he did catch the Snitch, after all. It would be difficult for his team to win if he couldn't do his job.

"I've been thinking," Lucius said slowly. "Ever since Rabastan aided in flushing out Dolores…"

He trailed off as Narcissa failed to hold in her sigh of exasperation. She had never liked that terrible woman, and she'd seen it as a positive when Rabastan aided Dorcas Prewett in flushing her out of the Ministry. It had nothing to do with politics. Narcissa simply believed that people so grubby and disagreeable should not be allowed to hold power.

"Whatever you're about to say," she told her husband coolly, "don't. Do not forget, my dear, the causes we support. Be glad Dolores is out of the Ministry, if only for the sake of my charities."

He frowned at her, but said nothing, and this suited Narcissa just fine.

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Delia poured herself more wine and frowned across the table at her husband. He had brought work with him to the table, which he never did, and her sons were curious, each trying to crane their necks to see what Rabastan was up to. It was ridiculous, Delia thought, that Dorcas Prewett had sucked her husband into this mess that she was instigating in the Ministry. Just when Delia had been assured that her husband's involvement would be over when that Umbridge woman was taken care of, Rabastan actually began getting interested in this cause. It was just so typical of him.

"Darling," she said, trying not to sound irritated, "couldn't you put that away for an hour?"

Her sons, who had looked at her while she was speaking, turned their heads to look at their father as they awaited his response. Rabastan quirked an eyebrow without looking up from the papers he was examining.

"I am going to read these papers straight through," he said, pouring himself another glass of water. "If you have a problem with that, my dear, you could certainly endeavor to hold a conversation with me. I am perfectly capable of such things."

She so preferred when she had to physically pull him from his sculptures before meals. At least he couldn't bring those to the table.

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Narcissa dabbed her hands with a special oil she prepared, with lavender and sesame oil. Severus told her that it wouldn't actually stop her skin from aging, but she told herself it would help, and Narcissa knew well enough that power of positive thinking could be incredible. Still, she was beginning to see the signs of aging. She looked at her reflection in her mirror and frowned at the thin lines that tried to hide in the shadowy corners of her face. They seemed deeper than she expected, longer than she expected, every time she looked at them. Cara didn't have these lines, and she had three children for Merlin's sake!

But Narcissa supposed her lines had nothing to do with motherly cares, but the years of fear and cautiously neutral expressions. Stress lines.

She closed her eyes, dabbed the oil tenderly on her face, and wished with all her heart.

A/N: This, like other bonus chapters, has been brought to you by the reviewing power of gr8rockstarrox! Everyone say thank you! And seriously, the catch-up game is over, so you'd better start reviewing in force if you want more bonus chapters in the coming weeks… 10 reviews between chapter updates earns a bonus chapter!

Review Prompt: How long-term would we say this arrangement between Adra and Draco is?

-C