HARRY

In The Room of Requirement, Harry mindlessly sucked on his quill, a bad habit he'd acquired after the end of the war. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to be able to complete Professor Fujii's essay. After an hour of work and barely writing an inch, his brain was starting to hurt. So instead he focused on his companion: Draco Malfoy, who didn't look as nearly as perturbed as he was. In fact, he was gazing into space, fiddling with a small locket with a thoughtful expression.

"You never told me what was so special about that locket," Harry said, unable to keep the curiosity out of his tone.

Draco tensed, his fingers stilling on the object. Looking up at Harry, he said, "What d'you mean?"

"The locket," Harry replied, motioning to it. "It's the same one you made such a fuss about when we went to get your things from your Slytherin dormitory."

"Oh." Draco shifted uncomfortably, and Harry realized he hadn't meant for him to see it. "It—erm— "

"It's okay," Harry said, backtracking quickly. "You don't have to tell me."

Draco sighed, though his lips turned slightly upward. "Between you and Hermione, I'm never going to have any privacy."

"What?"

"Nothing." Draco looked at him. "It was my mother's."

He drew his wand, tapping the locket with a muttered, "Puraperio." It snapped open, revealing a small, flawless emerald.

"It belonged to a friend of her's," Draco explained. "She ended up dying herself, but my mum always treasured it. Apparently it was a family heirloom of her friend's and had magical properties. Whether that's true— " Draco shrugged. "A lot of pure blood families try to make themselves seem more important than they really are. I wouldn't be surprised if it was rumor.

"But, for whatever reason, my mum always kept it. When the war came—well, Bellatrix stole it from her, but I suppose she didn't get what she wanted from it, because she gave it to me before sixth year." He gulped. "She said that it would help me kill Dumbledore. I've kept it because—because it reminds me of my mum, I guess."

Draco finished with another shrug, though he didn't quite meet Harry's eyes. Harry, realizing what that meant, sighed.

"No," he said. "You kept it because you hoped that the magical powers weren't rumor."

Draco opened his mouth to say something in his defense, but Harry cut him off.

"I'm not a complete idiot, Malfoy."

Draco closed his mouth, his skin paling slightly. "I— "

"Just admit it."

"I—it wasn't—I mean— " Draco looked down— "Yes."

Harry sighed. With a snap, he closed the Transfiguration book he'd been using as a reference, then proceeded to roll up Fujii's essay. He had no chance of completing it without Hermione's assistance. Somehow, he'd have to convince her to help him.

He looked at Draco, who was determinedly appearing to concentrate on his work, though his gray eyes weren't moving. Harry placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Can I see it?" he asked, holding out an empty hand.

Draco glanced at him, then at his hand, and sighed. He passed the locket over.

Harry examined it. It was small and heavy, and Harry had a sudden flash of memory: another locket, similar in weight, though much more sinister, with an ornate Slytherin 'S' decorating its surface. Suddenly, the locket he held in his hand was the Horcrux he'd destroyed months ago.

Harry dropped the locket with a gasp, his heart beating wildly.

"Harry?"

His breaths were coming out in short, quick gasps, but he closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. When his breathing was no longer labored and he felt as though he could speak, he said, "I—I'm fine. It's nothing."

Draco didn't look convinced, but he picked up the locket from where it was on the floor and held it out to him.

"Harry," Draco said, but Harry snatched the locket from his grasp.

"I'm fine," he repeated, trying to convince himself as much as he was Draco.

Draco met his eyes. The two boys stared each other down, Draco's eyes worried and Harry's determined. Finally, Draco looked away, relenting.

Harry turned his focus onto the locket. Now that he was looking at it, really looking at it and not having flashbacks of the war, he saw that it was very different from Voldemort's Horcrux locket. While still heavy for its size, it was small, round, and gold. On it was engraved a million intricate designs of a forest, vines lacing up and around the metal. Small animals were carved there, too, and Harry thought he could see a fairy or two. All in all, it was a peaceful sight, one he couldn't imagine belonging to someone as cold and proud as Narcissa Malfoy.

In Harry's sudden panic, the locket had been closed, and Harry drew his wand to open it again. "Puraperio," he muttered, just as Draco had done—but nothing happened.

"Oh," Draco said, taking it back from him and repeating the charm. This time, the locket opened with snap. "You have to be pureblood to open it," said Draco apologetically, handing it back to him.

"Of course." Harry rolled his eyes. "I should have known."

He examined it again. The inside was carpeted with a red velvet, in which a small, but perfect, emerald lay. It didn't appear to have been cut or polished in any way, but it was so vibrant and so smooth that there was no need. It was, in Harry's opinion, much more stunning in this natural state than it would ever be if it were cut.

"How much did this thing cost?" Harry asked Draco, picking it up and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, admiring the way it caught the light.

"Not that much, I suppose," Draco replied, frowning in thought. "Emeralds are more valuable to Wizards than Muggles, particularly for its tie to Slytherin. Still, most Wizards don't want raw stones like that. Maybe a few thousand galleons."

Harry snorted. "A few thousand, you say. Meanwhile, us peasants are living in absolute squalor— "

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Draco snapped. "But I don't think the vendor appreciated it's worth."

Harry turned to look at Draco. "Hm?"

"Well, it's much more valuable because it's raw, for one thing," Draco began. "A flawless emerald like that—you don't find that often. It was actually bigger when it was first bought, too. This is just a fragment of a much larger piece, which we don't have."

Harry nodded, observing the small emerald once more. If he looked carefully, he could just barely see it: a thin scratch—almost invisible to the naked eye—showing where the piece was cut from its larger brethren.

"Huh," was all he said as he passed the emerald back to Draco, who took it and encased it in the locket once more.

DRACO

Mum,

Father's escaped from Azkaban. I don't know what he plans to do, but I need you to be careful. There's a new group of Death Eaters out there. I don't know what they plan to do, but they're dangerous. Macnair is part of their ranks, as well as Pansy and Blaise, and who knows how many others.

Also, do you remember the legend of the Deathstick? It's true. The Death Eaters have it. They stole it from Hogwarts a few days ago.

If father comes to the Manor, jinx first, ask questions later. Remember that he stands for Voldemort.

Stay sharp,
Draco

HERMIONE

"I'm not helping you, Harry."

Harry groaned when she said it, ten fingers tugging at his hair in desperation. "But Hermione!"

"I'm sorry," she replied, feeling only slightly so. "But you need to learn it yourself. Professor Fujii is just— "

"Hermione," Harry began, leaning forward urgently. She rolled her eyes. She knew where this was going.

"Hermione," he repeated, "please. You wouldn't be finishing my work for me. You'd be helping me learn it so that I can finish it! Please, it's due tomorrow, and I'm nowhere near done— "

Hermione sighed, feeling slightly guilty. She supposed if she only helped him learn like she'd done with Draco... there couldn't be much harm to that, could there? And maybe...

An idea started forming inside her head.

"All right." Looking her friend directly in the eye, she said, "But you'll have to ask Draco first."

Harry raised his brow. "But you're the one— "

"I taught Draco everything that I will teach you," she interrupted smoothly. "Talk to him. Then I'll help."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. It's not much of a punishment, anyway. If that's what you were going for."

Hermione smiled. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind for next time."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, but he didn't question her. Instead, he stood, gathered his things, and clambered through the portrait hole and out of sight.

Hermione sighed, closing her Arithmancy book. Vaguely, she wondered if Harry had the brains to realize her subtle nudges to see Draco more often. She doubted it. Harry may have defeated the most dark Wizard of all time, but he was hopelessly oblivious.

She grinned. Merlin, her two best friends were idiots. Ron was inconceivably dimwitted at times, and Harry was a far cry from being a Ravenclaw. If she decided to count Draco—well, the war had proved that the boy could be immensely cowardly.

She stood from her chair with a yawn, glancing around the Common Room. Where was Ron? She searched her mind for an answer. Quidditch Pitch, she recalled. He'd told her at dinner.

She frowned. If that was the case, then why hadn't he invited Harry? The two of them still flew regularly, even if they weren't on the team. So why not now?

She shook her head, collecting her things in her bag just as another yawn overcame her. She'd think more of it in the morning.

The stairs to the girls' dormitory seemed to be the longest flight she'd climbed in her life. Finally dumping her school bag beside her bed, she quickly changed into her nightclothes. Then, stiffening another yawn, she clambered into bed and snuggled underneath the soft, warm sheets, thinking.

Ron... What could he be up to? Could he be meeting with... another girl? Hermione almost laughed out loud. Of course he wasn't. She'd known Ron for seven years. He would never do something like that.

But still... what if he was? She squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to physically push the thought out of her head. If he did—she wouldn't know what to do. No amount of research would be able to prepare her for something like that. This made her afraid.

She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Of course, none of her worries mattered. Ron wasn't cheating. She knew that in her heart.

So then what was he doing?

She looked at the clock on her nightstand; it was nearing ten. Stretching, her gaze wandered over the other empty dormitory beds. Now that Lavender was gone, she was the only eighth-year girl left. Something about that made her feel slightly empty inside.

Her gaze settled on the ceiling, and she began tracing the cracks in it with her eyes, her mind wandering to a much more sinister topic.

What did the Death Eaters plan to do? Bring back Voldemort's regime? Worse, bring back the man himself? Despite the impossibility of it, Hermione shivered. She couldn't imagine the Wizard coming back to life. It would be all her nightmares coming true. But perhaps that was why they took the Elder Wand... Maybe they thought its power could extend to necromancy! Hermione gulped.

No, no, no, she told herself. That's not what it means. Voldemort's dead, and he'll stay that way.

Slowly, her heartbeat slowed and her breathing calmed. Satisfied that she had her wits about her once more, she cast her mind around, forcing herself to think with logic.

There had been nothing reported in The Daily Prophet. No strange disappearances or an increase of murder—everything was the same as it had always been in the Wizarding World. So what could the Death Eaters be doing? Bidding their time? Or maybe she was concentrating on the wrong thing—

A thought struck her with such force that she sat bolt upright in shock, despite her exhaustion. No—it couldn't be—she was wrong. She had to be wrong. But if she was right—

It would explain why there was nothing in Prophet, for one.

But how could she be sure? She would have to check—would have to see it with her own two eyes. And she'd left the castle before, hadn't she? She could do it again.

She suddenly felt wide awake. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed her beaded bag and a change of clothes, plus her wand, a quill, and some parchment.

She glanced only once around the room before closing the door behind her.

HARRY

"And to think you came for help on Fujii's essay."

"Can you still— "

"Yes. Fine. But this is much better."

If Harry's eyes had been open, he would have rolled them. Instead, he settled for a sharp nip on Draco's lip.

"Ow," he muttered, withdrawing slightly. Then he smirked, leaning forward.

Harry sighed with contentment, reaching up to twine his fingers in Draco's shirt. Merlin, if Hermione knew what he was up to instead of spending precious time studying—the thought almost made Harry chuckle aloud.

Draco shifted, causing Harry to take a few steps back. He deepened the kiss, twining pale fingers in Harry's jet-black hair, and both parties sank into complete bliss, reveling in the feeling—

There was a click and a groan of a door grinding on dull hinges. With a gasp, Harry and Draco sprang apart—but not before light had spilled into the small room, illuminating every corner.

A tall, gangly fifth-year stood in the open doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock.

"Shit," Draco muttered.

"I—er—I was just— " The boy stared at them, eyes shooting back-and-forth between the two rapidly. "I'll—I'll just go."

Then, cheeks ablaze, he ran from the scene.

DRACO

Draco,

Don't worry about me. I can handle myself. But you must be careful.

Your mother,
Narcissa Malfoy

RON

The night was cold and clear, and the wind was light; perfect for flying. But Ron didn't carry a broomstick as he walked out into the courtyard. In fact, he didn't carry anything but a Deluminator hidden in his pocket and a wand up his sleeve, which he fingered nervously.

Every inch of him was filled with trepidation over what he was about to do. He gulped and took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. I'm absolutely mental, he told himself, for the tenth time. Absolutely mental. Why am I even here?

He was approaching Hagrid's hut, trying to keep an air of innocence, but then suddenly changed direction, heading for a far sinister destination: the Forbidden Forest.

The darkness of the night thickened as he passed the tree line. As soon as he did, his senses were on high alert, eyes darting around as he took in the trees and thoroughly examined each shadow, watching for any hint of movement. A snap of a twig had him hurtling around, but it was only some small, four-legged animal that quickly scurried out of sight.

He turned away, letting out a slow breath. Fingering his wand once more, he walked on.

The trees opened up to a small clearing. There, on the far end and shrouded in shadows, was a boy, his skin dark and eyes glittering in the light of the moon.

"Weasley," the boy greeted with a slight jerk of the head.

Ron lifted his head in what he hoped to be a challenging look. "Zabini. What do you want?"