"What are you doing here?" Malfoy clearly wasn't a morning person. His face was lined with pillow creases, blond hair sticking up like a noxious weed, but he hadn't slammed the door in George's face, which was something.

"Let's renegotiate."

"What?" Malfoy's eyes widened. "No! We negotiated already! I earned my stalker right to Potter. You can't change that."

George snorted. "Calm down, mate. No one's trying to dupe you out of anything. I'm offering a better deal. Now let me in. If Mill or her friends see me here, deal's off."

Malfoy grabbed George's collar and yanked him into the room. He slammed the door behind them. "Talk." Even dressed in rumpled, striped pyjamas, he managed to sound regal.

George glanced around Malfoy's private room. Swathes of expensive brocaded fabric, leather-bound tomes, a roaring fireplace – all the things that he'd expected. The weird assortment of stuff on the table in the corner was unexpected. George ventured closer, poking at one of the objects.

Malfoy whacked him across the back of the head with a scroll. "Leave that alone."

George frowned. "Why do you have a Remembrall?" If Malfoy's grades were anything to go by, his memory was only outstripped by Hermione's. "Only person I've ever met with a Remembrall was Longbottom. In fact, his looked exactly like…" George broke off, remembering the fate of Longbottom's Remembrall. He turned to raise his eyebrows at Malfoy.

Malfoy's chin came up, pale pink staining his throat and the tip of his nose.

"Really," said George. "That's the Remembrall you and Potter fought over?"

The pink swept across the rest of Malfoy's face. "What of it, Weasley?"

"He was eleven, Malfoy."

Malfoy threw his arms up. "So was I! And anyway, he looked damn good on a broom."

George lifted a scrap of red material with his forefinger. "Is this a shrine? Merlin's wand, Malfoy."

"You don't get to barge into my room and judge me," said Malfoy with cold dignity. "Now where are my nude photos?"

George choked. "Excuse me? Your what now?"

Malfoy folded his arms over his chest and glared at George. "What is this better deal if it's not nude Potter photos? What did I let you in here for if you weren't a supply to my demand?"

George's eyes kept going back to the bizarre Potter-shrine. "Okay, I'm going to disregard your super-unethical demand, because my curiosity is kind of killing me right now." He held the scrap of red fabric up. "Is this Harry's tie? Like his school tie?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "As you see. I have Potter's tie. I have his favourite Chocolate Frog card. I have several of his homework assignments. I have a piece of his chewed gum. You know what I don't have?"

George hazarded a guess. "Reason?" he asked. "Stability? Self-respect?"

"Nude photos," said Malfoy. "And if you're not here to help me with my problem, you can leave."

Seeing as ethics didn't hold much sway with Slytherins, George didn't bother arguing. Instead he pulled himself away from the shrine and went across to the window. He dragged in a steadying breath. He was probably going to regret this – definitely going to regret this. Hopefully Mill would be worth it. "How would you like an invitation to the Burrow for all major holidays for the next year?"

Malfoy's face creased. "What's a Burrow? It sounds dirty."

"The Burrow is my familial home."

Malfoy made a face. "Ugh. Is that a threat?"

George rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Use your brain, Malfoy. Our house is the closest thing Harry has to a home. Where do you think he goes for Christmas and New Year and Easter?"

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Oh," he said.

"Obviously I need your help in return."

Malfoy nodded. "I can get you one of Millie's school ties."

"Geez, Malfoy. What would you even want with a school tie?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It's kinky."

"Uh…How exactly?"

Malfoy smirked at him. "You have no imagination. Think of the things you can do with a tie. You can use it as an excuse to get near someone – to help them tie it, or help them adjust it. Use it to drag someone closer." His mouth tugged upward. "You can tie someone up with it."

George laughed. "Yeah, okay. Point taken. But not what I'm after."

Malfoy huffed out a breath. "Okay," he said, squaring his shoulders. "I'll have to Obliviate myself afterwards, but yes, I can get you nude Millicent Bulstrode photos." He shuddered as though he couldn't quite contain his horror.

"Also not what I had in mind," said George.

"Well, what do you want then?" demanded Malfoy.

"Information," said George. "Apparently Mill's seeing someone else. I want to know who."

Malfoy snorted. "Impossible. It's bizarre enough that one guy at Hogwarts likes her. Two would be ridiculous." His brow creased. "Unless she has Amortentia…"

It was official. Slytherin was the House for the insane. Cunning, perhaps, but mental. No wonder the school kept them in the dungeons. "She doesn't have Amortentia, Malfoy."

"Aha! That is exactly what someone under the influence of Amortentia would say."

George sighed. "Focus, Malfoy. If I were under the influence of Amortentia, I'd be following Mill like a puppy, not talking to you."

"You have a point. I still don't believe that more than one person would be the slightest bit interested in Millie. She can't read, you know? And she talks to her cat."

"I talk to my puffskein."

Malfoy's brows rose. "You own a puffskein? Well, now I can see what draws you to Millicent Bulstrode. Her manly arms and strong jawline."

George gave a bark of laughter. "You're making gay jokes? You?"

Mouth quirking, Malfoy shrugged. "Alright. What do you know about this alleged person who allegedly likes Millie?"

"Not much. Mill was seen liaising with someone last night. Whoever it was is the person in question or knows about the person in question. So I need you to figure out who she was talking to."

"Two years," said Malfoy. "I get invitations to all major events for two years."

George closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands. That was too far. Mill wasn't worth more than a year of that sort of torture, especially if she was already dating someone else and all this had been a prank. But he nodded curtly. "Deal."

Malfoy's mouth curled. "I don't know about last night," he said. "But I can tell you that Creevey rocked up down here at around sunrise with a present for Millie. And I can tell you that they spent quite a while whispering to each other and that she accepted the present. So, get out. I'm going back to bed."

George stared at him. "Are you mental? Mill's not going to be dating Creevey."

"But Creevey brought her a present," said Malfoy.

"Figure out who she was with last night," said George. "Let the Creevey lead go. She's not desperate."

Malfoy grumbled but went to his wardrobe to find a change of clothes.

George left him to it. He wanted to question Hermione again before she went down to breakfast.

…

Millicent stretched and yawned in the alcove outside the dungeons. Creevey was right, he had given her what she'd asked for – photos of her and a Weasley twin in compromising positions. But he'd kept vital information back from her as well. She'd been up half the night and had broken a myriad of school rules, but she was pretty sure that she knew how things had gone down now – which twin had done what. She kind of felt bad for hitting George but, really, if he couldn't keep his clone in check he kind of deserved it.

She must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, Creevey was shaking her awake. She started and pushed him away. "Do you have it?"

Creevey held out a swathe of scarlet fabric, embroidered with gold flame. "I can help you magic it bigger," he offered.

Millicent unrolled the cloth. Inside was a jewellery box. She raised her eyebrows and Creevey nodded.

"It's all there – like you said."

"Thank you, Creevey."

He stared at her. "You're not making me go away?"

"Well, I would like you to go away," Millicent admitted. "But not as much as I usually do."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," said Creevey, his eyes misting. He stayed where he was, watching her intently and breathing through his mouth.

"Don't get used to it," said Millicent. She tucked the fabric bundle under her arm and headed back for the Slytherin Common Room.

She woke to the sound of Tracey and Daphne giggling. Sitting up, she glanced across. They were sitting on Pansy's bed, prodding at her sleeping form. Both were wearing the same clothes as they had the night before and both were a little tipsy. Had probably been up all night.

Millicent glanced at the clock.

"How did Pansy and Granger's thing go?" asked Tracey.

Daphne prodded Pansy once more and looked up. "Pansy doesn't look as though she's been hexed so the fight can't have been too bad."

Millicent ran a hand through her tangled hair. "You'll have to get the details from her. I'm running late."

Tracey's gaze fell on the velvet gown hanging from Millicent's bedrail. "So pretty."

Daphne frowned. "That will never fit you."

"Not yet," agreed Millicent, catching up the brush on her bedside table. It barely went two inches through her hair before becoming tangled.

"It's a Gryffindor dress," Tracey complained.

Millicent laughed shortly. "That's the point. It's for a Gryffindor."

Both Tracey and Daphne abandoned Pansy, crossing the room to lean against Millicent's bedposts instead.

"Spill." Daphne's voice was sharp with curiosity.

"There's a new game?" Tracey's eyes were bright with interest but she sounded unsure.

"Same game," said Millicent. "Final match." She scooped the jewellery box off the bedside table and flipped the lid back.

Daphne leant in, brow furrowing. "What? Are you planning on making a voodoo doll?"

Tracey flicked an ornate gold necklace aside and raised her eyebrows at Daphne. "Is that..?"

"Yes," said Millicent. "It is. Are you guys helping with the final play?"

Daphne grinned. "What do we do?"

…

George managed to catch Hermione before she left the dorm. He tilted his chin up at her and headed for the window seat. She joined him a few moments later. "What's up?"

"Let's talk about Mill's other gentleman friend," said George.

Hermione made a face. "Let's not. Really, George, I'm doing you a favour by not telling you. It's not something you'd want to know."

George knew Hermione's resolved face. She used it on him often enough. "Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "Compromise. You give me clues and if I take it upon myself to put them together I can't blame you."

Hermione huffed out a breath.

"You've trapped me in a date with the girl," George reminded her. "You owe me something."

"Fine, fine." Hermione sat on the window seat and scowled at George. She dragged in a breath, mouth twisting in thought. "Okay, so this guy has enough feelings for Millicent that his Transfiguration lasts upwards of two days."

George's brows rose. "The snake?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "The ribbon, yes. But, until recently he wasn't secure in her love so when he transfigured the ribbon he was actually Polyjuiced as someone else."

George coughed in surprise. "Come again?"

Hermione sighed. "I explained to her about the ribbon. That it shouldn't still be moving if the person who transfigured it didn't have feelings for her. I guess whoever the guy Polyjuiced as didn't have feelings for her because she figured out pretty fast that there was Polyjuice or something involved."

George rubbed a hand over his face. Okay, so Mill had caught up already. How long had she known Polyjuice was involved? Couldn't have been long. "When did you have this conversation?"

"Last night."

The whole thing was getting more convoluted. Was so convoluted that even Hermione was getting things wrong. "When you saw her with her other suitor?"

"No, before that. And please don't say suitor. It's archaic."

"Right," said George. "Next hint."

"I don't have any more hints," protested Hermione. "This whole thing is completely baffling to me. I can't even get my head around it and, honestly, I don't want to. Now please let me go downstairs and eat breakfast under the adoring glower of my not-girlfriend, Pansy."

George snorted with laughter. "How are things going there?"

Hermione mewled with frustration. "It's all fury and wrath until she's drunk."

"I've heard drunk hook ups are okay," said George.

Hermione scowled at him. "You have no idea about how to respect a woman, George Weasley. No wonder Bulstrode is cheating on your ass."

"Ask Parkinson to the Yule Ball," said George.

Hermione made a face. "I'm going with Harry. It's too late to…" She shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't anyway but you know."

One of George's eyebrows flicked up. "That's kind of… Yeah, I mean Harry's a strapping lad. I'm sure you'll have fun."

Hermione laughed. "He's my best friend. Of course I will. Wouldn't have minded going to a dance with Parkinson before she got bored of me though."

"In the mean time you can enjoy your glower-y breakfast," suggested George.

…

When George walked into his dorm, Malfoy was sitting on George's bed, eating a slice of lemon cake that Molly had sent.

"Geez, Malfoy. How did you even get in here?"

Malfoy set the slice of cake on his knee. "I learnt in first year. How do you think I stock my Potter shrine?"

"Christ," said George. "I hope you have news."

Malfoy licked the icing off each of his fingers, like a fastidious cat. When he was done, he held his still glistening index finger up. "You were right. Creevey was not our guy."

"Did you really waste time investigating Creevey? I told you…"

"It's lucky that I investigated Creevey," Malfoy shot back. "Because Creevey is our go-between."

So Mill did have an actual boyfriend then. George crossed the room and sat on the other end of his bed. "Go on."

Picking the slice of cake up, Malfoy began to lick the icing directly from it.

"Malfoy."

Malfoy sniffed imperiously. "You woke me at an ungodly hour this morning. You dragged me from my bed, demanding hard labour before I had even had my breakfast. I need this sugar right now, George Weasley."

George sighed. Pushing further would likely cause more delay so he waited for Malfoy to finish the cake.

"Alright." Malfoy wiped his sticky fingers on George's bedspread and smiled. "So, the guy you have been looking for, in actual fact, is not a guy."

"Come again?"

"Mill's making a shrine to her beloved as well," said Malfoy. "And Creevey's the one who's gathering the pieces."

This day was getting more and more bizarre. First with Hermione so determined not to tell him what was happening and now with Malfoy's weird shrine theory. Had Millicent asked Creevey to steal Hermione's things so that Parkinson could have a shrine? "What pieces?" asked George.

"Same sorts of things I have," said Draco. "An article of clothing. Stolen lock of hair. An heirloom necklace. Mud from the Quidditch pitch…"

Quidditch pitch? "Malfoy, who the hell is this shrine for?"

Malfoy reached out to pat him on the shoulder. "Don't know how to break it to you mate, but Millie's been dating you to get closer to Angelina Johnson."

George spluttered in astonishment. The declaration was so far off the radar of things he'd been prepared for that day, that for long moments he actually couldn't speak.

Malfoy picked up another piece of cake. "Can't blame her, though. I mean, I wouldn't know myself, but Angelina has those breasts that guys seem to be quite fond of. And that flicky hair. I like flicky hair. Potter can have some flicky hair when he gets into a strop. Makes it worth getting hit."

George tried to speak again – and once more failed. Malfoy talked on about Potter's hair and eyes and mouth, oblivious to George's distress.

Finally George figured out how to work his mouth. "Fuck," he said. "Jesus fucking Christ."