HARRY

"Where's Hermione?"

Harry and Ron looked up and down the Gryffindor table at breakfast the next morning, searching for their bushy-haired friend. But even though Harry scoured the place thoroughly, he found nothing. "Maybe she's in the library," he suggested, shrugging.

Ron laughed. "Typical Hermione."

Harry grinned in return, reaching for some eggs. Meanwhile, the daily post arrived. He glanced up nervously, thinking of more threats from Pansy and Blaise, but no owls fluttered towards them, and none approached Draco, either. He sighed in relief.

Ron, apparently, had none of these misgivings, and he was stuffing his mouth full of porridge. Harry smirked at him before picking up a quill; he was working on his Potions homework last-minute before it was due in class that day.

"Great Quidditch conditions yesterday," he commented airily as he turned a page of his book, Potions: A Guide to Masterful Brewing Strategy.

For some reason, Ron tensed beside him. "Er... yeah. There were."

Harry furrowed his brow. Why would Ron do that? "We should've gone out and played," he said probingly. "It would've been fun."

Ron shifted guiltily in his seat.

Now sure that something was off, Harry cocked his head to the side. "Something wrong, mate?"

Ron gulped, then sighed. "Look, mate, I—Yesterday, I went to the Forbidden Forest and— "

Before he could finish, however, a large pile of newspapers slammed down onto the table beside him, causing both boys to jump violently. Ron knocked over his Pumpkin Juice.

"Hermione!" Harry yelped, trying to calm his beating heart. "What— "

"Muggles," she growled, her eyes aflame. "They're going after the Muggles!"

"What?" said a bewildered Ron.

"The Death Eaters!" she cried, wringing her hands. "All this time, we figured they'd do something in the Wizarding World, when really they were attacking the Muggles!"

Harry, recovering his wits, placed a hand upon her shoulder in a calming gesture. "Okay, Hermione, start from the beginning. How do you know this?"

She let out a puff of air and gestured to the newspapers. "Read them."

With some trepidation, they leaned forward, each selecting their own article from the mountainous pile, and read.

The first article was about the mysterious death of a well-known Muggle named Jerry Schruter, who dropped dead for no apparent reason in his home. The second was of the mysterious murders of a happily-wed couple. The criminals had inflicted only non-life-threatening wounds to the woman's temple and the man's arm, and there was no trace of poison in the blood. In fact, if there had been no signs of struggle, the doctors would have put their deaths down as heart attacks. Another, a strange robbery had occurred where there had been almost fifty eyewitness—ten of which were on-duty police officers—yet none of them made a move to stop the robbers as they waltzed in and out of the building. Afterwards, some witnesses swore that the thieves were armed only with small, thin sticks.

The last one he read was about the brutal murders of Wendall and Monica Wilkins, who were killed in their home, the doors locked on the inside.

Harry had seen enough. He set down the paper he was holding just as Ron did the same beside him. There was a silence between the three, broken only by their own troubled thoughts, the sounds around them seeming to dim. At long last, Hermione spoke, and the clatter of silverware and the chattering of students returned to its full blast.

"We need to tell Professor McGonagall," she said anxiously. "She may be able to help."

Harry opened his mouth to contradict her, but quickly stopped himself, McGonagall's words coming back to him: The war is over, Potter. You-Know-Who is gone.

She was right. He still held on to it, the constant adrenaline and fear caused by the thought of Voldemort out there, somewhere, waiting for the right time to pounce. He still felt as though he were about to be killed at any moment, still thought that he had a target on his back. But, like McGonagall said, the war was over. He no longer had anything to fear.

"Let's go," he said.

Set on their new task, they stood, glancing at the staff table. Seeing as their target was absent, they headed from the Great Hall to the Headmistress's office. But in the corridor outside, Harry spotted someone he was not yet ready to see: the fifth-year boy that had run in on him and Draco snogging.

Upon sighting him, the boy stumbled to a halt, looking just as unwelcome to see Harry as Harry was to see him.

Go away, Harry begged him silently. Turn around, go away.

Unfortunately, the boy steeled himself and approached the trio, walking with determined strides. Harry's stomach dropped.

Ron, having caught sight of him coming towards them, screwed up his face in confusion. "Who's he? Why is he coming over?"

Harry sighed. "Well—er— "

Hermione looked at him curiously.

Before anyone could say anything else, the boy had come within earshot, saving him from having to answer Ron's and Hermione's questioning gazes.

"Hey," the boy said, shifting his weight awkwardly.

Harry nodded to him in acknowledgment, nerves twisting in his gut.

"What do you want?" Ron blurted out, causing Hermione to smack him on the arm.

"I'm sorry," she told the boy, shooting Ron a glare. "He doesn't mean it— "

"No, it—it's fine." He sighed heavily, lifting his head to look at Harry. "I just wanted to see that I'm sorry about—you know. I didn't mean to, and I just— "

"It's fine," Harry told him, relief spreading through his veins. Part of him had been worried he would be a jerk about it to him, like Pansy and Blaise had been to Draco.

The boy smiled hesitantly at him. "I'm Erin, by the way. Erin Wallace."

"I'm sorry," Ron cut in, "but how do you two know each other again?"

"Er— " Harry glanced at the crowd surrounding them. "I'll tell you later."

Hermione raised her brows, but she nodded. "Come on, Ron. Let's go to McGo—I mean, to the Common Room."

And with that, she tugged a highly bewildered Ron up the stairs and out of sight, leaving Harry and Erin alone.

Soon, a thought dawned on Harry. "You haven't—I mean—you haven't said anything, right?"

Erin shook his head. "I haven't told anyone, no. And I won't, don't worry."

Again, warm relief spread from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. "Oh—good."

A few moments passed in awkward silence, broken only by some curious glances sent Harry's way. Erin, noticing them, smiled.

"Still the Boy Who Lived," he said. Then, as an afterthought, "Twice."

Harry gave the crowd a dark look. "I hate it."

Erin raised his brows. "Really?"

"How would you like everyone watching you everywhere you go? Why do you think I want it to be kept secret?"

"Oh," said Erin, stumbling back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be— "

"No, it— " Harry let loose a breath. "It's fine."

The two boys exchanged small smiles, Harry's apologetic and Erin's grateful. Again, they lapsed into silence, this time slightly more comfortable. Slightly.

But before either boy could say anything to break the spell of awkwardness a voice from above cried, "Harry!"

He turned. Ginny was racing towards him, her flaming-red hair flowing behind her, followed by Luna, who was trailing her loosely.

"Harry," Ginny repeated, skidding to a stop. Panting, she nervously cast a glance at the steady stream of students filling in and out of the Great Hall, then at Erin.

"I have to tell you something," she told Harry, looking at him pointedly.

"Er—sorry, Erin. I've got to go... "

Flummoxed, he followed Ginny out of the crowded corridor, up a flight of stairs, and to an empty broom closet, Luna keeping up a few steps after them. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Ginny whirled to face him.

"I need to tell you something," she said, an urgency in her tone. Meanwhile, Luna examined the cluttered shelves of buckets, brooms, and other miscellaneous cleaning supplies thoughtfully.

Harry raised his brows. "What?"

Ginny gulped. "I—I know I don't know everything, but—I need to tell you. Last night, Ron— " She took a deep breath. "He met with Zabini."

He stared at her. "Zabini... Blaise Zabini?"

"Yes!"

He could hardly dare to believe it. "So... what're you saying? You're saying it—he's— "

"He's not a Death Eater, if that's what you mean," she assured him.

"Of course he's not!" he cried. "I know that! That's what I mean, Ginny." He took a step forward. "If he's not a Death Eater, then what are you getting at? Why is he meeting with Zabini?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "Imperious? Whatever it is, it's not like Ron."

Harry let out a sharp puff of air. "How do you even know this?"

"Luna and I were out visiting Hagrid," she replied. "We were helping him with some wild harpies. Then, when we left, we passed by the Forbidden Forest and we heard rustling. We thought it might be another harpy, so we followed. Well, turns out it's Ron, meeting with Blaise Zabini"—She spat as though the name was poison on her tongue— "of all people, and—I don't know, Luna and I just hid. We couldn't hear or see much. But I got a glance, and that was all I needed."

Harry closed his eyes. Why was Ron meeting with Blaise? Was he under the Imperious Curse? The Death Eaters could have done it easily when they raided the castle, he realized. But why? Why put Ron under the spell? Why have him meet with Blaise and not someone else?

"If it's any consolation to you, Harry," Luna said serenely, interrupting his musings, "I'll bet Ron was trying to be nice."

Harry gaped at her. "Nice? To Blaise?"

On his right, Ginny stared at Luna like she was insane, too. But Luna nodded, dropping her hand to her side from where it had been exploring the buckets. "Yes, I do think so. From what I could tell, I think Ron was rather guarded with Blaise. Blaise seemed desperate." She gave Harry a smile. "He was trying to convince Ron of something."

He raised his brows. "Convince him of what?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied, her attention now partially diverted towards the ceiling as she examined it. "You'll have to ask him. He's feeling guilty."

His brows crept higher. "He is?"

"Oh, yes," she said with a vigorous nod, looking back down at him. "Didn't you see him at the breakfast table this morning?"

He and Ginny exchanged a glance. "Luna," said Ginny, eyes bright and dancing, "you are beyond the most observant person I've ever had the fortune to meet."

Luna gave her a warm smile. "Thank you."

Her attention returned to the shelves, but Ginny continued to watch her, a strange emotion burning in her eyes. Harry furrowed his brow, trying to discern what it could be. Was it... admiration? Jealousy? Pride?

Before he could think of it any longer, Ginny turned to him, and he snapped back to the present.

"Go ask Ron," she told him, her voice commanding.

He nodded. "And you? What will you do?"

"Well, I'll wait for you to give me information, of course."

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, really?"

Ginny gave him a lazy smile. "Yes, I think so."

He laughed, and she shoved his shoulder playfully. "Go," she said, chuckling.

He did, leaving she and Luna behind, the latter still examining the shelves absently.

DRACO

Mum,

I'm coming to see you this Easter holiday, whether you want me to or not. Don't meet me at Kings Cross, I'll just Apparate home.

Your son,
Draco

"Hey, Draco!"

He turned to see Harry tripping his way towards him, wrestling against the crowd in the corridor. Quickly rightening himself, cheeks tinged a slight crimson, he carried on. Draco watched on with barely disguised amusement.

When he finally broke free from the never-ending tide of students, Draco gave him a lazy smirk, opening his mouth to make a witty comment, but Harry raised a warning finger.

"Don't you dare," he told him, glaring.

He closed his mouth, though his smirk widened. Harry narrowed his eyes before sighing heavily.

"All right," he said, his expression exasperated. "Well, I just thought you might like to know that I talked to Erin. He's not going to tell anyone."

Draco gave him a blank stare. "Who?"

"Oh. Right." Harry's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "Erin Wallace, the bloke that, er—you know—saw us."

"Ah." He nodded, aware that his cheeks were now flushing red, too. "Him."

"Yeah."

The two boys lapsed into silence, casting nervous glances about them to be sure that no one overheard. But as there was no slowing of the students around them and no ears turned their way, Draco determined that they were safe.

For now, came a voice in the back of his head.

Shut up, he told it angrily, but he knew it to be true. There was only so long you could hide a secret romance from the prying eyes of the Wizarding World.

He snapped his attention back to Harry, glancing at his watch, then looking at him inquiringly. Harry tilted his head questioningly.

"We have potions?" he ventured at Harry's blank look.

"Right," Harry said, looking down and fiddling with his tie. "Damn, I haven't finished the essay— " He dropped it, leaving it untucked and twisted at the end. "Slughorn'll be cross. We'd better go— "

He turned away, but Draco reached out instinctively, grabbing him by the arm and smoothing out the red and gold fabric, tucking it back beneath his shirt. Harry stared at him, and continued to do so even after Draco had finished, his mouth opening and closing, at loss for what to say.

Draco gave him another smirk. "Remember, Harry, you're not a fish."

He closed his mouth with a snap, glaring at him once more. "I didn't—I wasn't— "

"Yeah, right." Draco tugged at his sleeve impatiently. "Potions."

Harry gulped, nodding. "I have to tell you something— "

"Harry."

"Yes. Potions."

Together, the two boys made their way to Slughorn's classroom.

Hours later, Draco tore down the corridor to Charms. Arriving at the door, he paused, trying to adjust his robes into a more dignified state. Then, satisfied, he entered, a solid ten minutes after the bell.

"Mister Malfoy," said Professor Flitwick, peering at him severely from upon his stack of books. "You're late."

"I noti— " Draco caught himself. "I mean, I'm sorry, Professor."

He avoided Flitwick's eyes, which were searching him intently. Finally, the tiny Wizard's wheezy voice said, "Well, find a seat."

He nodded, quickly dropping his bags and sitting where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were. Then, ignoring their curious looks, he faced the front, pretending to absorb Flitwick's every word while he actually let his mind wander.

He'd been in the library, but due to his abhorrent night's sleep the night before, had dozed off while working on an Arithmancy essay. He slept through the bell like a baby, and only woke when Madam Pince prodded him sharply between the shoulder blades, severely cross. He'd fled from the scene before she could do anything but glare, as any sensible person would do. Madam Pince was known for charming students' belongings into hitting them upside the head and following them out the library. Sometimes students' ink bottles smashed in the chaos. He shuddered at thought of that mess.

He snapped out his stupor when he realized everyone was moving towards the class's broom closet. Feeling slightly stupid, he jogged to catch up, tapping on Harry's shoulder to get his attention.

"What are we doing?" he asked in an undertone.

Harry grinned. Wordlessly, he reached into the closet, withdrawing with two brooms in his hands. "We're charming them to fly," he answered, his eyes holding a glint of excitement.

"Oh." Draco took one.

If he was honest, he could hardly care less about the lesson. The only thing that was bouncing around his skull was a yawn.

Together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco worked on the charm that would allow the broom to listen to the commands of the Witch or Wizard who rode it. It was tricky, and the result was that, in the last few minutes of class, Hermione was the only one who succeeded in casting it. No one was surprised.

As the class moved to place their brooms back in storage, Harry drew Draco aside, allowing Ron and Hermione to pass.

"What?" Draco asked him, raising his brows.

Harry quickly glanced around the room to check for eavesdroppers. Satisfied that there were none, he spoke to Draco in low, hushed tones:

"Ron met with Blaise Zabini a few nights ago."

"What?!"

"Meet me after class, second floor corridor."

And he was gone with a whirl of his robes.

Draco stared at the place where he'd been, his mind spinning uncontrollably, suddenly feeling wide awake. Ron had met with Blaise? How could he? And why?

It had never taken him less time to reach his destination anywhere in the castle, and he arrived to see Harry already there, alone, his back stiff and muscles tense.

"Explain," Draco demanded.

"Ginny and Luna saw him in the forest. Luna thinks Zabini might've been trying to convince Ron of something, and that Ron's now feeling guilty." Harry sighed, looking down at his feet. "I'm don't know what to believe."

Draco rubbed his tired eyes, trying to get his brain to focus. "Convince Ron? Convince Ron of what?"

"I have no idea."

"Have you asked him?"

"I get the feeling he would be hesitant answer me."

"Well then, inject him with Veritaserum or something," Draco suggested seriously.

Harry laughed. "Yeah, and then I'll bind him up in the Room of Requirement and torture him." He looked up to see Draco's unamused expression. "Wait... you're not serious?"

Draco furrowed his brow. "Well, don't do what you said, but the potion... why wouldn't I be?"

Harry's jaw dropped in horror. "He's my friend, Draco! I'm not going to inject him with an illegal truth serum just because he won't tell me something he's ashamed he did!"

"It's a means to an end, Harry," Draco said, trying to stay calm, but his blood was boiling at Harry's tone. "That's all."

"That's all?!" Harry cried out in shock. "I can't invade him like that, Malfoy— "

"Malfoy, again?" His nostrils flared. "Well, Potter, I don't need you to tell me what's right and what's wrong— "

"When you spew nonsense like that, you do," he retorted. "And as for your name... at least I'm proud to be a Potter. Your family will always be a load of Death Eaters."

Draco stumbled back, his mind blank with white-hot rage. Then, with a growl, he pushed past Harry and stalked out of sight.

He didn't look back.