Alright, so I might be a maniac. Clearly, every time I prepare myself to give up writing in favour of more pressing responsibilities, I post a new chapter instead. And, of course, when I promise to post a new one in one week's time instead of two, then that one will inevitably be late. We're learning, okay? ;)

I am shocked that we're almost at Chapter 40. We're certainly at least halfway done, if not more. I am so incredibly grateful for your very kind reviews and messages, and for following and fave-ing. Your comments in particular have been super helpful in getting me to decide where to go with this, as I had a few options in mind. I'm a little behind in answering them, but I'll get on it immediately! Please do continue to leave your thoughts if you have them. Other than that, I hope you enjoy the chapter and have a wonderful week (or two)!

~ Anna =)

Disclaimer: World and characters belong to JKR. Heidi belongs to me, if she'll allow it.

"Hi," I responded cautiously, looking around to see if there was anybody else occupying the beds, and concluding that there wasn't.

"Exciting night?" she asked.

"What?"

"Your hair's a bit messy," Hermione said.

I brought my hand to the back of my head and felt the knot that had collected there from my adventures with Malfoy. It left me afraid to know what the front looked like.

"You might want to brush it out or Parvati will get suspicious you were doing something scandal-worthy when she comes in," she continued.

I tried to appear unfazed while a sheen of moisture collected on my palms.

"You're one to talk," I said as I gestured to her dishevelled curls. "Had a Ronald-infused Friday night, have you?"

Hermione stiffened and crossed her arms. "Yes I did."

A small, upward curve hit her mouth and, before I knew it, she had burst into contagious giggles. By the time we had recovered, the ache in my chest that Malfoy had left had transformed into a laughter-induced stomach cramp. Like old times, I couldn't help but think.

"Do you want to get some tea?" she asked.

"Hermione, it's almost midnight. There's nothing in the Great Hall."

She shook her head. "Kitchens."

A few minutes later, we were sat at a huge wooden table with a hot cup of tea each.

"I don't know how you drink that stuff," she said as she pulled her own cup to her lips. "Mint. I can't stand the taste of it."

I looked down into my cup with a small smile.

"I suppose it's an acquired taste."

"I just hate the feeling after. Like your whole mouth's gone cold," Hermione said as she sipped on a chamomile blend.

My smile wavered slightly as I reflected on the way he'd all but forced me out of the room. I supposed it had gone cold after all.

"Why are you talking to me?" I asked. The question had come steamrolling out of my mouth, and the bluntness seemed to have made her all the more awkward. "You've been ignoring me for ages."

"We can't do this forever, don't you think?" she muttered after a moment, cradling her cup and looking ashamed. "It isn't us."

But instead of relief that she was offering an olive branch, I found myself feeling rather conflicted at the idea of it all.

"I don't know."

"You… don't know?" she repeated, looking concerned.

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean?"

I didn't know how to explain the way everything had shifted, as if somebody had flipped the world on its head. Dread at the sight of my friends. Elation at the sight of Malfoy. It was the cruellest of jokes, and maybe the most delicious of them. But it left me without footing and I suddenly realized how little I knew of what 'us' was supposed to mean in reference to anybody anymore.

"It's never been us before but … but maybe it's us now," I reasoned.

"It's not," she said sternly. "I don't know why you'd say something like that after all these years."

"Ron won't even look at me. Harry only talks in short, spiteful sentences. I can feel Ginny glaring every time I see her in the common room. I never thought I'd get that from all of you. Other people, yes. But not from you."

"We never expected you to attack Harry, either," Hermione said, looking aghast.

"Harry went absolutely rogue and we all know it. This isn't how we do things. We don't ambush people in lavatories unprovoked, threatening them into submission, and we certainly don't use spells like—"

"It was self-defence. Harry had no choice but—"

"You know, you've never been to my house," I said, the thought suddenly striking me.

"…What?"

"You've never been to my house," I repeated. "You've been to Ron and Ginny's a million times, but you've never been to mine. Why do you think that is?"

Hermione looked lost.

"I … I don't know why, Heidi. I suppose I've never really been invited."

"Yes you have. Every summer I've known you."

"Right, but then you always end up writing some sort of excuse that—"

"My father doesn't like Muggles, that's why. My mother's neutral, I suppose — erring on the side of caution. She doesn't hate them, and she even likes some of the Muggle fashion, but she definitely doesn't consider them equals. My father never trusted them, though. And he dislikes Muggleborns even more than Muggles themselves, if you can believe it. Always thought they'd steal from the house, the way they stole the magic. As if they'd done it to him personally."

Hermione looked visibly hurt. I took a sip of the tea, relishing the hit of cold behind my teeth, and continued.

"I begged so hard to have you though. Begged every summer, without exception. It was probably mortifying for my mother, watching me cry and beg and scream at my father just to have you guys come. Some Potter kid, a Muggleborn and a blood traitor. At worst, it was horrific for them. At best, they just didn't understand it. So every fucking summer, they forced Malfoy on me instead. But I never stopped begging. D'you know why?"

Hermione shook her head slowly.

"I never stopped begging because you guys were the absolute best thing that ever happened to me at this school. I don't even know if you understand the extent to which you all changed my life. Gryffindor didn't mean anything until you; all my sorting did was leave me scared and disappointed. I wanted Ravenclaw like my mother, see, but the hat didn't want me wasting my 'fire'. I thought it was a trick. I'd spent the night before bawling over something Parkinson had done; no fire there, that was for sure."

I shook my head at the memory and took another sip.

"That first month at school was horrible. Malfoy mocked me every day, even threatened to owl my mother and tell her which house I'd been sorted into. I'd lied to her, you see. Told her I was a Ravenclaw and paid Blaise half my allowance to keep his mouth shut. But the second month? It was better than all the years before it put together. Ron and Harry found me crying in the trophy room after Malfoy finally had owled my mother and snitched, and Ron said — and I distinctly remember this because it felt like the first time this fact had been drawn to my attention — 'What are you so sad for? Malfoy might act tough, but you actually are tough. Hat proves it, doesn't it?'. Then he told me they were planning to punch Malfoy in the nose next time he talked crap anyway, but would be happy to mention that it was in my honour."

Hermione smiled at this.

"'You are tough'. It sounds almost stupid repeating it now. But for an eleven-year-old girl it opened up a whole new world. No one had ever made me feel like I stood a chance against Malfoy's stupid gang before. And you want to know the best part?"

She nodded as she poured herself another cup.

"The best part is that they didn't have to do anything in my honour; the next time we saw Malfoy, I punched him myself."

"I remember that!" she said with a laugh. "By the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, right?"

"Right across from it. Malfoy went totally slack-jawed, I remember that for sure. I like to think I saw tears too," I said. "We really fell into our ways after that, I think. Started having a real, proper, two-sided rivalry. I wasn't just sitting in the corner anymore. And I'd been happily putting him in his place every year since. Hell, I came to school this year with every intention of continuing, but … it isn't a fair fight this year, Hermione."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because he isn't the same. It would only be kicking him while he's down. And the thing is, I don't think I need to kick him at all anymore. We've sort of found a way around it."

Hermione's eyebrows crept up.

"I know, I know! It's possibly the last thing anybody expected. But he's being good. Completely manageable. Not at all cruel."

"I don't know…"

"He's apologized to me for some of it. I think he really does regret some of the things he did when we were younger. And that's enough for me to get extremely angry when Harry suggests that he ought to have died. I don't want Malfoy to die. I want Malfoy to be better. I want all of them to be better, and I know not all of them will, but if even some of them—"

"Heidi, please just apologize. Apologize to Harry, and he'll forget all about it," Hermione pleaded. "I miss you, and I know they miss you too."

I stared down at my cup, and felt my eyes grow wet with tears.

"You're all so important to me. I love you all so much."

"But?" said Hermione nervously.

"But I know Harry isn't sorry that he almost killed him. You can't be sorry, but 'only if they aren't a Death Eater'. That's not how it works. You're either alright with mutilating somebody or you aren't."

"But Malfoy was going to use an Unforgivable on Harry, wasn't he?" she said. "He was about to use the Cruciatus curse. You don't deny that, do you?"

It was a statement of fact, and even though it grated against my skin, I couldn't fault her for it.

"No," I said. I was relieved to find that it was an effortless admission. I hoped that it was evidence that I'd managed to stay sane and sober-headed even though his hands had roamed all over me. "It was wrong of Malfoy, and even if I demand why he did it, there likely isn't a justification. I don't fault Harry for reacting. But I do fault him for the way he behaved about it afterwards. Hermione, we cannot become them while we're trying to fight them. It is incredibly important to me that we don't. If we do, then everything I've ever thought about us and myself after all these years means nothing."

She looked down at her hands, deep in contemplation.

"I need your help with something, Hermione."

Hermione's gaze met mine with a small frown.

"What is it?"

"I want to learn more about the war. The first one. And … and if anybody ever made it out from You-Know-Who's circle. But I don't know where to start. The library is massive and I don't want to alarm Pince by asking questions of … that nature."

"Why do you want to learn about the Death Eaters?" she asked, looking perplexed.

I swallowed nervously.

"I found something out this year. But you have to swear not to tell anybody, especially not Harry and Ron. Not now, at least. I'm afraid they'll think even less of me if they know, particularly with how they're being lately."

"What did you learn, Heidi?" Hermione asked slowly.

"Do you swear not to tell them?" I asked, extending my hand in a pact.

She hesitated. Chewed her lip. Looked down nervously. It felt like ages before she clasped her hand in mine.

"I swear not to tell them."

I glanced around to make sure none of the House-Elves were too close by.

"I think somebody close to me was involved."

Hermione looked horrified. "With Voldemort?"

"Yes. But every time I ask him about it, he shuts down completely. It's useless asking. From what I understand, though, he's got an interesting story. He's managed to navigate You-Know-Who really adeptly. It might help us gain some insights if we look into it."

"Wait, so this person … he joined voluntarily?"

"I don't know much about the details."

She leaned in with a whisper. "Heidi, exactly how close are you with this person?"

"About as close as I can get," I admitted. "It's my father."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

I made my way through the dungeons the following Sunday sore and sweaty from Quidditch practice, and in terrible spirits from the way Harry had managed to order me around while stubbornly ignoring me on a personal level. Our match with Ravenclaw was on the coming Friday and, according to Harry, we were in 'bad form'. To make matters worse, Malfoy had decided to avoid me ever since his panic over the Mark, leaving me to wonder what the point of taking either side was if they were both just going to turn on me in the end. The only positive thing in sight was the fact that Hermione had agreed to help me research every day after our lessons.

I winced and touched my shoulder. I'd fallen on the pitch, and the scratches were starting to sting; the wool of my cardigan was rubbing against them in a horrible way. The only thing that seemed to have kept me going was the idea that I could take a nice, warm—

I stopped short as Malfoy rounded the corner and began walking my way. He seemed to be looking over my head as he drew closer, and he was just tall enough that he could get away with calling it an accident. But I knew it wasn't an accident. I knew that over the years his eyes had become trained to see me in the way a predator's were trained to notice prey no matter how small.

Malfoy didn't 'fail to notice' me. The bastard was ignoring me.

"Having a good Sunday?" I asked as I stepped into his trajectory, arms crossed.

A tiny, nearly-imperceptible wince — probably at the realization that this wouldn't be so easy. Then, some hesitant eye contact. Finally, a small, impassive nod, followed by a brisk attempt to walk past me.

Anybody who knew of our history would have interpreted that nod as a sign of civility. Progress. But I recognized it immediately as the nod of somebody attempting to deny that their tongue had been in my mouth.

"Malfoy!" I called, wheeling around after him. He kept walking, acting as though he hadn't heard me.

Malfoy might act tough.

"Malfoy!" I said again. He stiffened. Kept walking.

But you are tough.

"Don't act like you can't hear me, Draco, because I know you can! Draco Lucius Mal—"

He turned around suddenly, hands in his pockets. Casual. "You shouldn't call me by my first—"

"Draco. DracoDracoDraco. Shit, it really does get easier to say each time!" I remarked, taking a few steps towards him. "Just like it's getting easier to kiss each oth—"

"Zabini, not now. I'm tired."

"You're always tired," I told him coldly. "And you always, always do this. And I never fucking get told why."

"Do what?" he asked through an unaffected stare.

I laughed humourlessly.

"You're ending it, right? You've already decided. And without me, obviously, because why would my opinion matter," I said resentfully.

Silence.

I shook my head at the absurdity of it all.

"'It's real, Zabini'. 'Believe it, Zabini'. 'I'm not going to shy away from the one thing that's keeping me sane, Zabini'. Are you kidding me? This was three days ago. Three."

"We'll address it at a more appropriate—"

"We'll address it now," I snapped.

"In the middle of the dungeons?"

"Can't talk about it in the Room, can we?" I crossed my arms stubbornly. "Since I can't get into the Room, that is. I tried all day yesterday, and nothing worked. Any idea why, Malfoy?"

"You can get in if you're with me," he deflected.

"I could without you, too. Until very recently, that is."

"You don't need to be hiding in there by yourself when I'm not around. You should be with your friends, Zabini. We both know it. In fact, why don't you try to find them now? As for me, I'm rather busy."

"Fuck you," I spat. "You don't get to do this again. I don't know who let you get away with this bullshit so much that you have it perfected, but I'm not one of those people."

"Look, what we—"

"Don't bother lying. I already know it's real. You might have been able to deny it the first time, but now? After saying all those things? After touching me like that? Don't even try to go there, Malfoy. You'll only make an idiot of yourself."

Malfoy sighed and rubbed his neck uncomfortably.

"It's got nothing to do with touching you, Zabini."

I pointed at him accusingly. "Whatever you came up with in your sad, exhausted brain is utter crap and you know it."

"Look, I underestimated some personal circumstances. What else is new? Fuck, I never would have initiated any of this if it wasn't for…"

"So it's my fault?" I said with a scoff.

"It isn't a fault. I … this isn't the time for us. I was careless—"

"How were you going to break it to me? Were you going to slip a note into my bag? 'No more kissing, Zabini'? 'Sorry, Zabini, you're ugly again'?"

"You aren't ug—"

"Don't tell me you were going to leave it unaddressed and pretend it never happened. Merlin, that would have been even stupider!"

"I was going to tell you," he said.

"When?"

He hesitated. "When the timing was appropriate."

I gaped at him, at a loss for words. The dull throb that had built up in my temples from all my other stressors amplified tenfold, and it was soon joined by nausea.

"Malfoy, I can't even think about this right now," I said, rubbing my temples. "My week is absolutely packed to the brim. I've got a Quidditch match after class on Friday that I am not ready for, and I've entirely filled my evenings with other things."

"What other things?"

I held a hand up.

"Shut up. Here's what we're going to do, you absolutely pathetic arse. Since you haven't completely ruined this despite getting dangerously close, I'm going to give you until next Friday night to come up with a better answer than 'I underestimated some personal circumstances'. I strongly urge you to reconsider unilaterally wrecking this before it even had a proper chance to begin. My Quidditch match should be done at seven. I can come for eight thirty."

Malfoy sighed. "Why do we need to make such a big—"

"Because my feelings fucking matter, Malfoy. It's not all about you. This involves both of us."

I was pleased to see him concede this for once by saying "Fine. I'll meet you by the entrance to the Room."

"Oh, no. No no. I'm not discussing this in that horrible, stuffy room. I lose my mind in there, especially when I've got your stupid lips on my … never mind that. We're going to the Astronomy Tower so that I can breathe some clean fucking air for once. The option to throw you off is just a bonus, really."

"Zab—"

"My name is Heidi. I'm fairly certain that if you're capable of snogging me, and capable of ruining my Sunday evening in quite such a personal way, you are more than capable of calling me by my first name."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Are the theatrics really necessary, Zabini?"

"'Are the theatrics really necessary, Heidi?'" I corrected him sweetly.

He cursed under his breath before playing along. "Have it your way, Heidi."

"I will, Malfoy, thanks. Have a nice evening," I said as I pushed past him. "I hope you sleep well."