Chapter Twenty-Six

"No, that's a terrible idea," said a boy in the booth behind Hermione, and she glanced covertly over her shoulder to see who it was. Here was where there was an advantage in being a girl, Hermione only had to turn her head a little and she could peek through her long hair to spy on the group behind her without showing her face. It was Micheal Corner of course, she should have known, his arrogant drawl was unmistakable. "If you do that, and we get caught, then we'll get expelled for sure."

"Sheesh," Ginny's voice broke into Hermione's eavesdropping and she turned back to see Ginny had finally arrived, two giant tankards of butterbeer in her hands. "It's full in here today! I was kind of hoping less people would come since we can visit more often, but it feels like the opposite." She set the butterbeers on the table and dropped into the chair Hermione had saved for her. "Have you been waiting long?"

Hermione pulled one of the butterbeers toward her and took a long sip of the sweet, cold drink; the pub was hotter than usual because of the crowd and she was thirsty. "Long enough to get sniped at by your brother," Hermione said blithely, rolling her eyes. "By the way, I told him I'd get you to buy me dinner before I let you have your way with me." She glanced at her drink. "I suppose this will do."

Ginny snorted into her tankard, doing a remarkable imitation of Harry a few minutes earlier. "His jealousy really is ridiculous. He's my brother and I love him, but he really needs to get over himself."

Hermione laughed, feeling the sting of Ron's words ease in light of Ginny's dismissive tone. "Harry said much the same."

"And that's why I love him," Ginny grinned. "So," she took in the small paper bag sitting on the table next to Hermione, "what did you get?"

Hermione showed Ginny her new quill and Ginny modelled her new quidditch gloves, but as the girls sipped their drinks and chatted, Hermione found herself distracted by the discussion happening behind her. Micheal was still holding his meeting, and Hermione was desperately curious to know what the boys were talking about after the odd look she'd seen Micheal give Harry in Quality Quidditch Supplies earlier that afternoon.

"…what we need to do," one of Micheal's friends was saying in a low voice, "is draw him out, get him somewhere where he can't use one of his mates to get out of trouble."

"Exactly," Micheal agreed, and Hermione strained her ears to make sure she didn't miss whatever he said next. "We need to get him on his own, but still somewhere where the end result will have impact. We need witnesses or else everything will be for naught. He has to get the blame. Him and all his death eater-wannabe friends." Micheal said this last part so quietly that Hermione almost didn't make it out.

"Uh, Hermione?"

Hermione jerked back into awareness of her present company and found Ginny staring at her with a funny look on her face. "Um, yes?" Hermione fumbled lamely, caught out and having no idea what Ginny had been saying the last few minutes.

"You've been staring into your butterbeer as if it were a pensive for the past minute," Ginny said, raising an eyebrow in question. "Everything ok?"

Hermione blushed faintly, embarrassed at having let her mind wander. "Do you think Micheal Corner is up to something this year?" she blurted, her voice pitched low as she leaned across the table toward Ginny.

Ginny glanced at Micheal and his friends with a frown. "Why? Has he been acting more of a prat than usual?" Ginny, having dated and broken up with Micheal a few years back, had no love lost for him.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder too, then looked back at Ginny. "I don't really know," she admitted. "It's more of a feeling than anything concrete. He's been holding a bunch of meetings with people around school, and I'm just sort of getting this vibe that he's going to try and cause trouble." She didn't add that she thought she had heard Micheal mention death eaters, because all of that was supposed to be behind them now. No more Dark Lord equalled no more followers. Right? And if there were followers then Micheal might be doing the right thing in trying to root them out, just like Harry and the rest of them had before. But somehow Hermione didn't feel like Micheal's intentions were quite so noble as Harry's had been.

There was a bit of a disturbance just then as the group of Slytherins who had been holding hushed conversations of their own with Kieran Wittlesbrite, got up to leave. They made their way down the aisle past Micheal and the Ravenclaws, shoving each other and laughing, one of them stumbling into Michael's table, jostling it and causing one of the butterbeers to spill. The Ravenclaw it had belonged to started cursing, but Burlington only tossed him a contemptuous sneer, and then the group was past Hermione and Ginny and out the door.

"With gits like that we certainly don't need a second house rising up," Ginny commented primly, watching the wooden pub door swing closed. Just then a shadow fell across their table.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry called, grinning somewhat sheepishly at her, as Ginny smiled brightly up at him.

"Hi, Harry," she responded, a little cautiously, glancing past him to his table only to find it had emptied out while she and Ginny had been talking.

"I was wondering if you and Ginny had plans for the whole visit or…" he trailed off, looking between his girlfriend and her a little awkwardly.

"Well," Ginny said quickly, "we had decided to make this a girl's night, what with Ron deciding to be a pompous arse and all."

But Hermione could see that despite her quick and stout loyalty, Ginny did want to spend part of the visit with her own boyfriend, though she was far too kind to come right out and say it. Hermione decided to return the favour.

"It's fine, Gin. After all, Lavender barely made it as far as the first shop before she found a date, who am I to deny those of my friends who have good relationships the perks thereof?" She smiled, almost actually meaning her words. Ginny still looked hesitant, and Harry held his tongue, looking between the girls. Hermione pressed on. "I mean it; go, have fun. Do soppy romantic things." She waved her hand at the pair to shoo them out the door.

Ginny laughed, and Harry grinned. "Are you sure," Ginny asked, still looking uncertain.

"Yes," Hermione laughed, catching the hopeful look in Harry's eyes. "Go. Find some dark corner and have a good snog. I insist."

Harry grabbed Ginny's hand and pulled her to her feet. "I knew you were my best friend for a reason," he teased Hermione, grinning as Ginny swatted his arm and hollered at him to quit manhandling her. Harry tugged his girlfriend up against his chest and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, causing Ginny to shriek and giggle.

"Have her home before dark!" Hermione called after them, and Harry looked over his shoulder at her.

"No promises!" he called back, and then they too were gone.

Hermione picked up her mug and drained the last of her butterbeer before heading out to the street herself. She wasn't sure where she wanted to go now that she was on her own again, and found herself wandering somewhat aimlessly down the high street, looking in windows, wondering what a certain boy might be up to just then.

xXx

"You're a bloody cheat!"

Draco chuckled at the frustration on Blaise's face as Phil spread his cards across the table over top of of Blaise's own hand for the third time in a row. He'd been impressed with Phil's prowess this round of cards, he clearly hadn't been lying when he'd claimed to have been practicing earlier. So far Draco had won two rounds of Falsehood, and a nice pocketful of galleons to boot, and Phil had won four. Blaise, as evidenced by his increasingly reddening face—not all from the shots of fire whisky the boys had been taking in turns to buy for the table—had only won one round right at the start, and he was not taking his losses well.

"Come off it, Zabini," Miguel laughed, leaning back in his seat across the booth from Blaise and Draco, not at all put off by the fact that he'd not won a single round himself. "Phil is clearly the superior player, now cough up." He gestured toward the rather depleted money bag sitting next to Blaise's half-empty tankard. Grumbling darkly, the boy did so, and Draco grinned behind his own mug as Phil cheerfully tucked the coins away, promising to buy the next round as a peace-offering.

"Anyone is superior to you, Munoz," Blaise snapped back, taking a shot at the only one in their party he was currently besting. Miguel only chuckled and gathered the cards together to reshuffle. "Have your party games, there's something I'd much rather be doing right now than this." And he tossed back the dregs of his tankard before pushing up from the table and striding toward the bar where Sylvia and Ebony had been sitting, waiting for the boys to finish up.

Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise's pouting—though the other boy would never admit to such a thing—and smirked to himself. He had been right earlier, besting Blaise at cards—or at least, watching anyone best him, especially polite, unassuming Phil—had cheered him up immensely.

"Oy, Malfoy!" a voice called out, drawing Draco's attention to a group of boys from his house who were baring down on their table in the back corner of the Hog's Head.

"What can I do for you, Blakely?" he inquired dryly, feeling exhausted merely considering what Blaise's lackies might want with him. He picked up the cards Miguel had just dealt him and began to sort them.

"We just saw Weasley strutting about with his new bird," Burlington cut in, making Draco want to roll his eyes again at the dated term.

"And?" he muttered, inspecting his hand and reaching for his money pouch to place his bet for the new game.

"And we think now's the time to give 'im what for, what with 'im layin' into Wittlesbrite and all, with no provocation last week," Anderson jumped in, cracking his knuckles.

"You said you'd handle it," Kieran said, meeting Draco's eyes, though he looked a little uneasy, what with Draco's reputation and all. "But, well, it's been days and…"

"Maybe you're worried about staining that pristine new reputation of yours," Blakely sneered, looking down at Draco with that superior expression he seemed to have gleaned from spending too much time with Blaise. "We gave you time to do something, much more than anyone else would have allowed after such an insult, but you seem too wrapped up in your new… lifestyle." He said this word with a distaste that implied many levels of thoughts unsaid.

Draco scowled, pushing his money bag back into his pocket. He'd been hoping that no one would have remembered his promise, or at least would have left him to his own devices on how to deal with things. Of course, Weasley deserved a good comeuppance for several reasons, but if Draco went too far with things, or even got involved at all, Granger might never speak to him again. On the other hand, if he didn't intervene, and Granger heard about things later, she might still blame him for not trying to stop things. There really was no way around it, he'd have to go along, and just try and steer things to a slightly less violent outcome.

"The Gryffindors are too hot-headed for their own good, I agree," Phil said into the silence that fell between Draco and Blakely, and Draco cut his eyes at him, raising one brow. "However," Phil went on, "picking a fight in the middle of the street likely isn't the wisest move."

His words were very diplomatic, such as was his character, and Draco appreciated Phil trying to stop any outright attack, even if Weasley did deserve it for taking out his own frustrations on Kieran. However, Blakely and the others would not be swayed.

"One might almost have pegged you for a Hufflepuff," Burlington sneered at Phil. "Are you sure the sorting hat put you in the right house?"

Phil didn't rise to these words, merely continued sorting his cards, a small smile on his lips. "My mother was a Hufflepuff," he said after a moment, voice quiet, cutting Blakely off a second before he could speak again. "And," he added calmly, his eyes colder than his cheerful personality usually allowed, "if you speak one word against her, Burlington, Weasley won't be the only one who'll have to watch his back."

Draco offered Phil a tiny smirk, out of view of the others, proud of him for holding his own. Admitting such a thing to the likes of Blaise's friends was no small thing, and Phil might get some blow-back from it later, so Draco meant to keep an eye out for him just in case. Presently, he turned back to Blakely and met his eye. "Fine, let's go deal with Weasley," he muttered, resisting rolling his eyes as he pushed back his chair, and ignoring Phil's murmured comment of: "Granger won't like it…" as he realized that Phil had come to realizations of his own over the past few months. Standing, he nodded at Blakely—who looked somewhat surprised and maybe slightly disappointed that Draco had actually acquiesced to the occasion—then followed the group out the door.

xXx

It really was quite boring wandering around on her own. The sun dipped lower in the sky the shadows lengthened down the streets, and Hermione wrapped her arms around her middle to ward off the coming chill of the night air. Here and there she heard bursts of laughter from groups of friends, or saw couples leaning into each other as they talked in low voices. The night would have been a lot more fun if Hermione herself were spending time with someone special. Like, perhaps, someone who had been staring at her intently in a quill shop earlier that afternoon, and, she was almost certain, had flushed when she'd noticed; not, she had to admit, unlike herself.

Of course, Draco had taken a date into the village, she reminded herself, he hadn't come with any intention of going with her. Why should she feel slighted? She had no right to be. They were friends, yes, maybe even good friends; even if she now found his snarkiness amusing, and could no longer deny that he was physically attractive to her as well. He teased her and chided her, and they still got into arguments, but…

And then she found herself thinking of all the times their interactions had ended in a less than "friend-like" fashion: outside the forest, in the kitchens, in the back of the library… The way Draco's eyes had lit up when his Charm had worked, the way he was always gentle with her, using old-world manners some days and reverting to cheeky charm on others…

"Merlin, save me," Hermione muttered under her breath. "I do not have feelings for Draco Malfoy."

Liar, whispered her innermost heart. And she didn't shush it this time.

As she made her way down the street, Hermione came upon Ron and Violet. It was impossible to miss them as they were sitting on a low stone wall outside of Madam Puddifoot's, sipping from two straws in a single strawberry milkshake (or something very like one, at any rate). Their hands were entwined around the glass and Violet was looking up at Ron with starry eyes. When Hermione passed them Ron leaned down and whispered into Violet's ear, and the stupid girl gave a silly giggle, blushing prettily as Ron then pecked her on the cheek. Whether or not this was all for show, Hermione kept her gaze straight ahead, leaving the pair behind in the coming twilight, determined not to let Ron get to her. He could have a hundred vapid little girlfriends if he liked, it was none of her business. And he really shouldn't try and make it such.

Around a corner Hermione saw a flash of Ravenclaw blue among a group of boys, and neared to find them gathered in a small courtyard between shops. The cobbled stone area was circular, with a large Maple tree in the middle, its long, leafy branches blocking the lantern light from the street. Hermione edged her way closer, moving through the shadows and wondering if this was another semi-secret meeting Micheal Corner was hosting, and if she might finally be able to figure out what he was up to. Hovering next to a mail-order book shop, she waited silently for the boys to continue their conversation, wishing she had use of Harry's cloak.

"Now," Micheal was saying, pacing about the group, which, Hermione noted, was different from the boys he'd been with in the pub earlier that night. "We can't afford to let our vigilance slip. Potter may have offed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but that doesn't mean there isn't still evil at Hogwarts. We all know where it's concentrated, but despite the petition I handed in to the Headmistress at the end of the summer, Slytherin House is still allowed to remain a part of the school."

Hermione felt her mouth drop open at the cheek of Micheal's plan. Even before her changing feelings for certain members of that house, she'd been an advocate of house unity, and now, after the war, the school needed to cling to it more than ever. Though Micheal and his cronies were likely far from the only ones who had thought, then and now, that Slytherins were only troublemakers and copycats of their parents' values, it really wasn't fair to say that none of them had changed, or, indeed, been ok people right from the start of things. After all, there were people like Zacharias Smith in Hufflepuff, Marietta Edgecombe in Ravenclaw, and Cormac McLaggen in Gryffindor; no house was perfect.

"Therefore, we need to prove to McGonagall that the whole group is rotten beyond reproach if we are to succeed in purifying our school. It's only been a little over a year, that's not much time for people to change their colours, and we all know that the blood of Slytherins runs black."

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. Stepping into the courtyard, she glared over at the group. "That sort of hateful talk is the opposite of what Dumbledore spent years trying to teach us, Micheal Corner, and you know it. Talking of 'purifying' the school, that's as much in line with Voldemort's teachings as anything, and you think you're above reproach? You're all idiots!" She took some small pleasure in the fact that several of Micheal's sycophants flinched at her use of the name, though her satisfaction was hindered as Micheal turned slowly to face her, a cold smile on his face.

"And here is Hermione Granger, a turncoat if ever there was one." The boys around him laughed, sending Hermione sneers of their own.

"Just what do you mean by that?" Hermione snapped, feeling her face grow hot with anger. "I'm as loyal to Dumbledore as Harry himself! It's you and your misguided friends who are turning away from his teachings. You just said yourself that it's only been a year. Some people have changed for the better in Slytherin, just as it's apparent that some people in Ravenclaw have changed for the worse. I thought yours was supposed to be the clever house, Micheal; what are you thinking, promoting thoughts like this?"

"Oh come off it, Granger," sneered Michael. "Everyone knows you and your jumped up buddies, Weasley and Potter, think you're better than everyone else. You're not though. And we all know it, even if the others are too cowardly to tell it to your face. We stayed behind while you were tramping across the countryside with your two boyfriends," he snarled, putting a heavy, ugly, emphasis on the word 'tramping', curling his lip as he gave her a once over, "doing Merlin knows what. So don't pull that holier than thou crap on me."

Flushing with rage and embarrassment over Michael's crude insinuation, Hermione grit her teeth to hold back a scathing retort. Everyone, at least the people who counted, knew that she, Ron, and Harry had been working harder than anyone to fight against Voldemort's regime, even if they had spent many days wandering about aimlessly while they tried to figure out what to do. It wasn't her fault her friendship with Harry had solidified her involvement in whatever he'd chosen to do since the day she'd met him. But for Michael to imply that she'd been snogging her way across the UK while the rest of Hogwarts had been Bravely Fighting the Establishment—

"—so let me remind you once again, Granger," Michael was saying, while Hermione continued to glare at him, incensed. "Despite whatever misconstrued hero status you might have had last year, now that You-Know-Who is dead, you're back to being a frizzy-haired, book-obsessed, nobody. Those of us who actually stuck it out at school know that though the battle may be over, the War never ends."

Feeling her heart beating very fast in her chest, Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to form an articulate sentence. "Get over yourself, Michael," she began, her voice quiet at first, but building as she gained momentum. "I won't humour your ridiculous accusations by trying to explain the important work Harry, Ron and I were doing, in terms simple enough for even you to understand; I doubt you'd listen anyway. But I'd rather be a book-obsessed nobody who knows that the War is over and life has moved on, than a status-obsessed zealot who spends my days lurking in shadows and trying to stir others to revolution where there's none needed!"

Michael looked slightly taken aback at her outburst, but recovered quickly, his expression twisting as he shot her a filthy look, a fanatical gleam in his eyes. "If you think that the sons and daughters of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters have miraculously all mended their ways and decided to follow a path to goodness and redemption, Granger, then not only are you naive, you've got your head in the sand! Anyone can see that there's still good-for-nothing trash running around Hogwarts, probably headed by that bastard Draco Malfoy, and I, for one, plan to do something about it."

Though it was late and darkness had already fallen, Hermione and the Ravenclaws were by no means alone in the streets of Hogsmeade, and she knew that continuing to shout at him would do little to change his mind. Perhaps this was only his way of handling the PTSD that most Hogwarts students and their families felt in some fashion following the Battle, but even if it was, she knew it wasn't healthy to react that way. As much as she wanted to back Michael Corner against a wall and yell at him to just let it go and move on with his life already, she knew there was some truth to his words. Even if she didn't think that Draco Malfoy was leading the charge of the second generation of Death Eaters, that didn't mean that some students didn't still cling to the old ways, and were looking for a way to claim some small bit of revenge for having been on the losing side in the War.

But still…

"You're making a mistake," was all she said in the end, still glaring at the Ravenclaw boy, her entire body trembling with suppressed emotion. Then she stepped around him and began to walk very quickly down the high street, her head up and her eyes staring straight ahead.

Michael's voice drifted after her, sharp and snide. "Don't play high and mighty with me, Granger," he shouted at her retreating back. "I've seen you talking with Malfoy around school. You won't be able to convert him." There was a pause, then he added, his voice dripping malice: "Or maybe that's not what you want from him? Maybe you miss the thrill of being around You-Know-Who's followers? Does Malfoy thrill you when you're cozied up in the library?"

He managed to make the single syllable sound dirty, and Hermione felt her face flush hotter. But aside from a stiffening of her shoulders she refused to acknowledge that she'd heard a word Michael had said. Seeing a brightly lit window out of the corner of her eye, she shoved open the door next to it and hurried inside, leaving Michael and his crude comments behind her.

xXx

Draco followed at the back of the group as Blakely sauntered down the high street, Burlington, Cartwright, Anderson, and Wittlesbrite gathered around him. He was tired of petty fights, considering such things parts of his youth that he wanted to put behind him. After all, he was trying to grow as a man, and that probably didn't include street brawls. Up ahead, he spied Weasley and a pretty, dark-haired girl a few years their junior in school; how Weasley managed to attract such pretty girlfriends was beyond him, his looks and personality surely weren't something he had going for him. It might be his Quidditch skills, Draco hated to admit to himself, for lacking much of anything else to recommend himself at school, Weasley had improved on the pitch over the years.

"Oy, Weasley," Blakely shouted, and Weasley and the girl popped apart with a tiny squelch that suggested they'd been sneaking a kiss in the dark before the war party had come upon them. Weasley jumped to his feet at once, reaching for his wand. The girl, Draco noted with slight approval, didn't run away, though she did look uneasy.

"What do you want, Blakely," Weasley snarled, immediately defensive, which, of course, was exactly as he should be.

"You jumped one of our mates last week," Blakely returned darkly, his Scottish brogue, stronger as he sneered at Weasley, "and we don't take kindly to that. You Gryffindors think you can get away with anything just by hiding behind your house name. It's not brave to to attack a fellow in a back hallway, Weasley, it's cowardly. Then, you would know all about cowardliness, wouldn't you? Word is that you ran out on Potter and the mudblood during the war. Any truth to that?"

Draco felt his hackles rise at Blakely's use of the vulgar word he had worked so hard to strip from his own vocabulary this past year. However, to his luck—if one could call it that, perhaps for Blakely's sake, if anyone's at all—Weasley spoke before Draco could.

"Take that back, Blakely or I'll force that word back down your throat!" His face was bright red and the wand in his hand sparked. Draco was surprised at the reaction, wondering if Weasley still cared for Granger despite their breakup. Next moment, Draco felt anger surge inside his own chest, as Weasley continued, not mentioning Granger at all. "If anyone was a coward during the war it was your lot, hiding behind behind your mummy's robes while Harry fought You-Know-Who. At least I was on the winning side!"

Anderson stepped up, almost as big as Blakely, and made to look bigger still by virtue of having the smaller, thinner, pair of Burlington and Cartwright on either side of him. He cracked his knuckles, snarling curses at Weasley, and the red-haired boy turned his wand on him, his blue eyes flicking wildly from face to face, ready to counter any curse.

"I'll go get help!" the girl finally said, her own wand out, fear finally rising in her eyes, and she scampered back up the street, calling for Potter. Draco knew that once the Chosen One got involved there would be little he could do to deescalate things, and so he moved to the front of the crowd at last.

"The fact of the matter is, Weasley," he said coolly, finding it wasn't that hard to give himself over to the anger of the situation, despite his higher reasoning, "you did jump Wittlesbrite the other night. Do you deny it?"

"The git was having a go at me," Weasley began, and Draco heard Kieran start to protest, shoving past Draco as he reached for his own wand. Draco moved closer and caught the boy's wrist briefly, stopping him and releasing him before anyone else noticed.

"On that note," Draco drawled, putting as lazy a spin on the words as he could, to indicate how tiresome he found this entire interaction, "perhaps Weasley and Wittlesbrite ought to just have it out themselves?"

"What, duel?" Burlington sneered. "Like you and Corner?" These words caused some confusion among the boys who hadn't witnessed that event, and Blaise wasn't there to back Draco up—or perhaps it was better for Draco that he wasn't; Blaise hadn't been fully supportive of the duel despite his involvement in it, after all.

"Well, they could go at it like a pair of muggles and start grappling like apes," Draco replied, with so much scorn that even Blakely cast Burlington a scathing look, "but I rather thought those of our class were above such such things."

"Oy, Malfoy!" came a familiar voice over Draco's shoulder just then, accompanied by the sound of running feet, and he glanced behind him to see Potter, Thomas, Finnigan, and the girl, returning at a gallop.

He heaved a great sigh. Why was he always the first one called out when there was trouble? "Stow your wand, Potter," he called back, turning so the newcomers could see he hadn't yet drawn his own. "Whatever Weasley's girlfriend told you, I'm sure she exaggerated." And then he had to resist rolling his eyes as the girl, Violet, he heard Potter's mates call her, glanced over at Weasley and blushed, looking pleased.

"Ron," Potter called, moving to stand nearer Weasley, who looked markedly more relaxed now that backup had arrived. "Everything alright, mate?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Weasley blustered, puffing out his chest as if he hadn't been a hair's breadth from turning tail and bolting. Even Draco, who's casting was swift and near-perfectly accurate in a duel, wouldn't have been able to take on five at once. And Weasley was no Draco.

Potter moved closer, looking between Draco, Blakely and the rest, and Weasley. Then he turned back to Draco. "What's going on here?"

Slightly surprised that Potter had actually given him the chance to explain, Draco did his best to remain neutral in his response. "You may recall last week Weasley was in a fight," he said drily, as knowing Weasley's general temperament it wouldn't surprise Draco in the least if it hadn't been Weasley's only altercation that week. Potter's lips thinned, but he didn't deny it. Draco went on. "Now, I'm as sporting as the next man, and if any Gryffindor wants to test their mettle against a Slytherin—", here he had to pause as several of the Slytherins made jeering noises, showing what they thought of any Gryffindor thinking they had the skills to best someone in their house, "—in a fairly earned fight, who are any of us to stop it?"

Potter rolled his eyes at Draco's lordly words, and Draco smirked slightly. Such occurrences may may have fallen by the wayside along with knights and the throwing down of gauntlets, but Potter and his muggle upbringing shouldn't be faulted for his lack of understanding of how things used to be properly done. Much, anyway.

"It wasn't with you," Potter replied, sounding as if he were struggling to remain civil, and, just as surprisingly, not immediately assuming that Draco had been at fault. Perhaps Draco wasn't the only one who had changed since the war. "So why are you involved now?"

"I don't know about Gryffindor, but in Slytherin we actually care about the lower years—" This time it was the Gryffindors who muttered; Draco ignored them. "Someone," he continued coolly, in a slightly louder voice, "has to look after them, especially if they're going to keep getting jumped in back hallways." He wasn't precisely lying, though he knew the look Potter shot him wasn't exactly unwarranted. In years past, the every-man-for-himself mentality had practically been the motto of Slytherin house, but the war had altered that way of thinking somewhat, and Draco himself had been working toward inner-house friendships much more that year.

"This cycle has to stop, Malfoy," Potter said after a long pause, and Draco wanted to roll his own eyes. Stupid, sanctimonious, Potter, acting the saviour of the world once more. "One of you attacks one of us, then someone retaliates… This isn't the way."

"Clearly," Draco replied, meeting Potter's eyes and holding his gaze, and, to his immense credit, not correcting Potter on the fact that it had been a Gryffindor who had made the first move this time. "You don't see wands drawn on our side, after all. We only came to talk."

Weasley sputtered at this, and Draco bit back a smirk. He was only half-lying once more, as, in another lifetime, or even a year ago, talking would have come after the firing of curses. Tonight it was pure luck that no one had crossed wands before Wittlesbrite's vendetta had gotten out of hand, and Draco intended to make use of that.

"We only wanted to know what it was that caused Weasley's break with sanity that night," Draco drawled, giving the ginger boy a cold look, and was slightly surprised that Weasley looked pale at this question, as if he would like nothing more than to bolt, even with his mates there to back him up. "Kieran says he did nothing more than mutter under his breath, surely even you, Potter, would agree that didn't warrant a beating."

Potter looked tense, Draco saw, and was eyeing Weasley across the way. It was obvious he knew what had caused his friend to snap that night, but he didn't come right out and say it in Weasley's defence, which was odd; Potter wasn't exactly known for keeping his mouth shut about things. The other boys muttered, glancing between themselves, and then Violet looked at Ron and asked in sweet, but rather simpering tone, that Draco had always found off-putting in girls—as if the girl who used such a voice thought that sounding innocent to the point of idiocy was appealing to a boy:

"The only fight I knew about last week was the night you and Hermione Granger split up. Did one of them," she cast a snooty look over at Draco and the Slytherins and he scowled back at her, smirking when she took half a step backward before continuing, "—make something of it? It really isn't fair if they did. After all, when a man has a broken heart he does rash things." And she stepped closer to Weasley, putting her arms around his waist and pressing against him, in, Draco supposed, what was supposed to be a comforting manner.

Her words hit him a second later. Of course, Draco knew that Granger and Weasley had split up, and the Slytherins around him were now laughing fit to burst over the fact that Weasley hadn't been man enough to manage his emotions after being dumped—even Kieran looked more scornful than angry now, but Draco saw the way Weasley was looking at him, eyes blazing with embarrassment and hurt and anger, and knew the words he would say next almost before he said them.

"Wittlesbrite was only the closest to hand at the moment," he snarled, taking a step toward Draco and stumbling slightly because Violet was still clutching at him. "It should have been you, Malfoy!"

"I hate to break it to you, Weasley, but even I can't take credit for Granger realizing she could do better than you," Draco replied coldly, though inside he could feel his heart start to race. Having Phil know he cared about Granger was one thing, even Potter seemed to understand, but Weasley would never forgive him, and he really didn't feel like duelling in the middle of the street just then. Feeling like he needed to end this confrontation before things spiralled out of control, Draco cast a look around the assembled people and spoke quickly. "Wittlesbrite, you still want a go at Weasley?"

Kieran looked at Weasley like he disgusted him. "The git's too pathetic, Malfoy," he said with conviction, turning away. "Leave him to his mates. I wouldn't waste my time on a sop like Weasley for all the gold in his vault."

"You wouldn't get much," started Anderson, smirking, though he quailed under the look Draco shot him, for Draco didn't want things to start up again just as they seemed to finally be settling down. Merlin knew how they'd managed to avoid a wand-fight, but Draco wasn't one to tempt fate and wanted everyone to leave before Blakely fully realized that he hadn't gotten to curse anyone.

Draco turned away and started back up the street, the other Slytherins eventually following him, helped along by his offer to buy them a round back at the Hog's Head. Behind him, he heard Potter calling Weasley over to their group, sounding faintly relieved that the confrontation had ended as peaceably as any of them could have hoped.

"Let it go, Ron, you're just lucky it didn't come down to a fight. They'd only play dirty, and I personally don't want our Hogsmeade visits cut off on account of a stupid fight that you started."

Weasley protested, and Draco glanced over his shoulder just before his group turned the corner toward the pub, meeting Potter's eye for a split second. It wasn't that he felt like they had bonded over Weasley being a git, but they shared a certain camaraderie even still. Perhaps Draco and Potter would never be true friends, but like Brown and the Weasleyette—Ginny—perhaps one day they would be able to be amiable to each other.

xXx

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