He and Severus were in bad moods. Had been, ever since they had gotten back from a particularly nasty meeting at his parent's house. His mother had practically wept at the sight of him, once again, but he was burying his own guilt deep down. Severus had warned him it would be far too dangerous for Narcissa to know what they were doing.

The Dark Lord was abroad, slithering around the darker areas in foreign countries, trying to drum up a following. Lucius was acting as his regent, instructed to gather their old local following and inspire the younger generations to join. Which is why he was so happy to have Draco around, not that Draco was eager to ask his housemates to join the cause.

Draco had expressed his belief it would be foolish to threaten every student in the Slytherin house toward their cause, and his father had thrown his goblet of wine at his head, nearly missing. This reaction set Narcissa off, whom descended into a screaming fury at her husband. Lucius had risen from his seat toward her and Draco had stunned him stupid.

They left, Lucius unconscious on the parlor room sofa while Narcissa went out to spend the day tending to her garden and simmer down. Draco wasn't overly worried about his mother's safety, Narcissa played perfect Pureblood housewife, but he knew firsthand she had a mean streak and an intense will to not only survive, but incredible defensive magic ability to ensure she would.

He knew Severus had a respect for Narcissa and he hadn't been pleased to see another almost-physical fight between the two, just as he wasn't exceptionally excited to hear the students in the house he oversaw would be attempted to be recruited.

They were just settling back in the cottage for the night, both trying not to glance at the clock on the wall. Jamie should have been home by then, she was only stopping over to Diagon Alley for the day for the ribbon-cutting ceremony in Diagon Alley.

An owl jabbed at the window, sailing in and dropping The Prophet. Another owl followed, The Messenger landing on the table as well. Inscribed at the top of the paper, near the front headline and the picture of Jamie standing amongst wreckage, was a prompt to listen to the story on the wireless broadcast.

Draco got up numbly, switching the radio on, to catch the warbling segment of the latest radio show- The Messenger on Air.

"Shacklebolt was visibly infuriated while giving an interview following the attack to our ground correspondent and Editor-in-Chief, Xolia Lovegood," the young host was saying. Draco vaguely remembered Jamie mentioning the boy was a friend and classmate of hers.

An audio clip played, and Jamie could be heard describing the attack. Draco's eyes flashed to Severus, who was leaning forward in his chair listening to the broadcast, eyes on the moving pictures of people fleeing in the street as robed figures shot spells in the air and crowd, Jamie standing amongst the wreckage, victims carried off to the hospital, and of Jamie sitting on the street with a little girl as volunteers and first responders arrived to clean up the mess.

"I don't particularly love this new role they've put her in," Severus said idly as they turned the volume down, an Auror spokesman coming on to discuss next steps in the investigation.

"Me either," Draco muttered. He felt sick to his stomach, and also confused. Lucius hadn't mentioned they were carrying out attacks now. "Why didn't Lucius say anything?"

"My guess is he didn't know," Severus sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Lucius never did have the best grip on the others, and I'm sure they are unstable and angry enough to get riled up and lash out without proper instruction."

"Well shit, it's a great idea to leave him in charge then, isn't it?" Draco scrubbed at his tired eyes.

Severus simply grumbled, standing up and thumping over to the cellar stairs. The door slammed shut behind him as he disappeared to throw himself into work so as not to deal with the anger and worry surrounding the attack on his goddaughter.

Draco didn't know what to do with himself. The situation with his parents still bothered him, the fact his father could barely control himself much less a following of blood supremacists was incredibly disturbing. And then there was Jamie, his friend that wasn't quite a friend yet, and her vulnerability with being in the spotlight.

It was as if there was a target painted on her head, and he wasn't keen on seeing any of the psychopaths his father hung around with going after her.

It was supposed to rain tonight.

He opened the door of her bedroom before he could even realize what he was doing, standing in the doorway and taking in the empty room. It smelled like her, like cinnamon and the outside and fresh laundry. The windows were open to let in the fresh air, dresses were piled around the room with sticky notes numbering them for different events. On the chest of drawers, a few framed photos and a bottle of perfume sat waiting for her return.

It was tiny little room, but it was so symbolic of who she was. The record player and radio, muggle and wizard pop-punk-rock albums scattered beside them. A box labeled Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Prototype Collection C inscribed on it, her broom and a quaffle in the corner. A few little jars sat on the windowsills, seedlings and flowers blooming slowly inside them, her muck boots for working in the garden on a pile of newspapers beside her bed.

He moved to close all of the windows so her things wouldn't be ruined. A noise startled him, and he turned to see Jamie standing in the kitchen. Dirty, a little banged up, and sniffling.

"Hey," he said awkwardly. "I was just closing your windows; it's supposed to rain tonight. I didn't expect you'd make it home."

"Thanks," she wiped at her eyes, looking exhausted to the bone. He could see her face starting to crumble and he stepped over her organized piles of chaos, quickly pulling her into his arms. It was instinctual, the way he automatically moved to comfort her.

Nestling beneath his chin and tucked into his chest, she felt her shoulders shake and she let out a small sob.

"It was a really bad day today," she told him, clinging to him.

"I know and I'm sorry," he pressed his cheek to the top of her head, rubbing her back gently. "Tomorrow could be better."

"Tomorrow," she groaned. "Tomorrow is another day of…I'm tired, Draco. I'm really, really tired, and it wasn't until giving the interviews today when I realized just how tired I am. I just…" she took a deep breath. "I feel like I have nothing left to give right now, nothing for myself. I'm exhausted."

He just nodded, soothing her as she cried herself calm. When she was done, shivering from emotion but relaxed in his arms, he helped her into her bed. He knelt, pulling off her shoes and dropping them to the floor. He disappeared and returned moments later with a bowl of warm soapy water and a washcloth.

Brow furrowed, he found himself wiping at the dirt and the soot covering her, in a move so gentle it surprised him. He didn't know where this was coming from, this caring, but he found a desire to look after the older girl, to be there for her yet again.

Jamie was half-asleep, a few tears still leaked from her lashes, but her breathing was much steadier.

"Jamie, you should get out of those clothes, they're filthy," he told her. She grumbled but he found her pajamas folded up on her nightstand and handed them to her. Turning his back, he let her change in privacy.

"You're being really nice to me again," she said blearily after settling under the bed covers. He shrugged, handing her a glass of water, sitting down beside her.

"I told you, you've grown on me some, little fungus," he gave her a playful poke and she gurgled out a laugh. "And you've had a bad day. You'll be okay, you're tough, you just need some rest. Maybe we can have you stay home tomorrow, recharge, yeah?"

"Yeah," she sighed. She scooted over and patted the bed beside her.

"What?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she made a face at him. "I'm not trying to seduce you; I just want you to sit here with me and talk until I fall asleep…can you?"

"Fine, but don't get any ideas," he grumbled teasingly. He scooted over to lean up against her headboard and pillows as she snuggled up on her side of the bed. Her auburn hair was sticking up in the back like duck feathers. It made him smile a little.

"Please, you're just a baby," she mumbled.

"You act like you're so much older than me," Draco rolled his eyes. "I mean, I bet you'll be one of the oldest Hogwarts students in your year, right?"

"Yeah because of my early birthday," Jamie replied. Hogwarts had an age policy for each year, as do must educational institutions. From Sept. 1 to the following August 31, any child born within that time frame were considered in the same year of school.

Jamie being born on Oct. 31, 1977 put her in the same year as Fred and George, despite them being born in April 1978. It meant Jamie was of age well before many of her other classmates in her year. Jamie would be eighteen years old for almost her entire final year of school.

"Well I have an early birthday, too, you aren't that special," Draco retorted.

"When's your birthday?"

"Dec. 5, 1979," he closed his eyes as she dimmed the lamp light with a flick of her wand. "Puts me at only actually being two years younger than you, darling. I'll be sixteen this December."

"Hm, so not exactly an infant after all," she mocked.

"Making you reconsider things, huh?" His eyes were growing heavier, and she was so warm beside him. "Beside the fact I think you're an insufferable little brat."

He felt her shake with laughter as she smacked at him in the dark. "You're the worst, Malfoy!"

"I know I am," he said suddenly growing solemn. He felt her wriggle, lifting her head to glance down at him in the dark.

"You aren't though, not really," she said seriously. "I think you're one of the good ones, you just hide it behind your attitude is all. You're a lot like Severus, actually. You keep everyone away from who you actually are."

"Quit being nice to me," he yawned loudly. "You'll confuse me and then I'll go back to school and it won't be the same."

"Draco, we are friends, aren't we?"

"No Shacklebolt…we can't be friends; it doesn't work like that."

"Well why not?" She poked a finger at his cheek. "You like me, don't you?"

"Are we going to rehash the fungus conversation again, Shacklebolt?" He said in mild irritation. "I told you, you're not bad. You're semi-likeable. I don't want you to get hurt, what more do you need from me?"

"That's like, Draco," she laid back down. "Caring about each other, wanting the other to be okay…you hiding me after the third task and helping me clean up dinner and cutting my hair and hanging out with me…comforting me tonight…that's like."

"Shit, Jamie, go to bed," he groaned, clenching his eyes shut. He was half tempted to get up and leave.

"You really don't think I'll want to hang out with you anymore once we get back to school?" her voice was quiet, sad.

"I'm supposed to be a spy, Jamie," he said slowly. "It means I need to appear to be one of the bad guys. Your brother and your friends…your family…they won't want you around me."

"But I want you around me." She said it so quietly he wasn't sure he hadn't made it up in his mind. His stomach clenched and he swore internally.

"Let's just worry about it when we get there, yeah?"

"I'll prove you wrong," she said. "You'll see. You're the only one who gets it, Draco, who gets me and everything that happened this summer. I'm not going to just toss you aside, I like you, Draco, and I consider you a friend. Whether you believe me or not."

He was silent at that. He felt her shift a few times before settling down, her breathing evening out until it grew heavy with sleep. He rolled over, could barely see her in the darkness. He reached out and took her hand, it was warm. Soft.

He felt his eyes prick almost with tears. He had never had a true friend, wasn't sure if he could especially now with what he was doing for Dumbledore.

No, you're doing it all for her, the voice inside of his head corrected him.

He rolled his eyes, dropping her hand and rolling back over. He needed to knock it off, Jamie Shacklebolt could not be his friend and he was setting himself up for disappointment by trying to entertain the idea they would last through the summer.

He was startled when her hand slipped back into his and he glanced at her, she was curled on her side facing him now, still dead asleep. He didn't have it in him to take his hand away, and before he knew it, his eyelids were drooping, and he was fast asleep beside her.


It was very late, practically morning by the time Severus pulled himself out of his lab. The door to Jamie's room was open and he moved to glance in, hopeful she had returned.

He paused, swallowing heavily.

Jamie was in bed alright, but not alone. She and Draco were snuggled together like a couple of puppies, their hands entwined, fast asleep. He may have been angry if they weren't fully clothed, but as it were, Draco's shoes were still on.

He didn't know what to make of it. He wanted to tell the boy to get away from his goddaughter, but he also knew in his gut Draco wasn't pursuing her, was still uncomfortable with being her friend. No, this was all Jamie, acting like Lily, and showing love and friendship to another lost, angry boy who didn't quite think he deserved it.

He shook his head, utterly stumped on what he should do. Leave them together? It appeared innocent enough. Or he could wake them up and cause an uncomfortable scene.

He elected to do neither. He sighed, leaving the door open, and made his way to couch in the living room. Grumbling, he grabbed a throw blanket and pillow and stretched out. Telling himself he was at least within ear shot, he let his burning tired eyes close.