Author's Note: Hello all! I hope you've all had happy holidays and are enjoying a short break before the start of the new year! I want to thank TheMushroomGuild for their review of last week's chapter, your words really made me smile and I count myself lucky for having you as a reader! This week: some more interactions with our favourite Gryffindors and Slytherin. Next week: Dumbledore! Enjoy and see you all in the new year! :)

August 4, 1996
London

The remainder of dinner and dessert was a quiet affair, and afterwards Mrs Weasley sent all of the teenagers upstairs as she, Remus, and Tonks remained seated. Narcissa, who was really not included in either group, made her way to Walburga's room on her own accord, looking for all intents and purposes as if she owned the place. However, Molly did not let them all go before giving all of them a stern look. Ron and Harry were directed to their usual room – on the second floor, Sophie remembered somewhat randomly – whereas Mrs Weasley explained to Hermione and Ginny that the three of them would be sharing the bedroom on the first floor. 'As opposed to the boys, I expect you three can be in the same room without tearing into each other.' With that expectation – which was at the same time a warning – they trudged after the boys to the first floor.

Opening the door, Sophie was surprised to find a third bed had been squeezed into the space that the dresser had previously occupied – likely transfigured. Linen was laid out on each of the beds, and Sophie tried to refrain from speed-walking to the backpack that was now carefully placed on top of the bed she had previously occupied. As she took a steadying breath at holding it in her hands, she tried not to think of what would have happened if Mrs Weasley – or anyone else, really – would have taken a peek inside and have found her notebook. Unzipping it, she took out the pyjamas she had packed and the washcloth that held her toothbrush and toothpaste. As she was unsure about wizarding dental care, she tucked these latter items between the folds of her pyjamas and stood, announcing, 'I'm going to refresh myself before bed.'

After those confidently spoken words, she was ashamed to admit she made a beeline for the door, not giving Ginny or Hermione any chance to stop her. She found the bathroom, as expected, behind one of the neighbouring doors, and quickly took care of her business. Still, when she returned to the bedroom five minutes later, it was as if she had been gone for over an hour.

Both girls were now seated on their respective, made beds, leaning against the wall and their eyes firmly fixed on the door. On her. Pretending not to notice, Sophie returned to her own bed, putting the bundle of day clothing and her toothbrush and paste into her bag. Then, she somewhat haphazardly made the bed and settled beneath her covers with the newspaper she had gotten earlier that day.

'Who are you?'

Sophie looked up from the sports column that she had been reading, feigning ignorance of Ginny's biting tone and narrowed eyes. 'I was under the impression your mother would have informed you. My name is Sophie Cornwell.'

'So we heard. But why have we never heard of you?'

Sighing, Sophie lowered the newspaper, fixing the redhead with an annoyed glance – that she may or may not have adopted from Draco. 'Well, as I already informed you, I did not attend Hogwarts.' She made to go back to her reading but only just managed to find the place she had left off when a second voice joined in.

'What Ginny means is that we've never heard Malfoy make any mention of you, and I don't remember your last name as belonging to any prominent wizarding families in Britain.'

Perhaps it was something in the way Hermione had spoken – something utterly Hermione Granger that Sophie had found endearing when reading the books and watching the movies but found somewhat aggravating when directed towards herself – or perhaps it was the way that it reminded her of her earlier indignation at dinner. Whatever it was, it made her slap down her newspaper, not with any of the unease or alarm that she'd expected to feel, but only with a strong sense of annoyance. 'I wasn't aware I'm in the company of experts on the topic of British wizarding families – or people Draco Malfoy hangs out with, for that matter. Besides, I distinctly recall Mrs Weasley saying she expected us not to tear into each other. Now, if you two don't mind, I've had a long day and would really like to get some rest. If you have any other pressing questions, do save them for the morning.'

With those words, and a feeling of satisfaction at seeing their wide-eyed response, she folded the newspaper back into her backpack and turned around in bed. Soon, Hermione and Ginny voiced a soft "good night" to each other, and the overhead light went out.

-xxx-

Despite what she had said, and despite the tiredness that was weighing down her eyelids, Sophie found her mind would not turn off so easily. In fact, it seemed that given a quiet moment, her mind attempted to catch up with everything that had happened since Draco and Narcissa had appeared on her doorstep the evening prior.

Was it really only the evening prior that she had been picking out shirts for a pub concert? Was it really only a day ago that her life had consisted of perfectly ordinary things like boyfriends and music, when her only real concern was whether her outfit would be appropriate for the venue? Now she was here, closer to the magical world than ever before. Heck, two of the main characters of her favourite book series were right here, so close she could almost reach out her arm and touch them. At one point, the thought would have made her positively crazy. Now, she only felt slight annoyance.

Her thoughts at the dinner table had been correct; she did know everything about them. And that was exactly why they couldn't be friends. She knew not only who they would marry, but also how they treated their friends. She knew how they clung together, how they supported each other, and brought out the best in each other. And she knew it all from Harry's perspective. But she was not Harry, and more and more Sophie realised that the people she came across did not treat her as Harry. Instead, she noticed the way Ron had glared at Draco, the way Harry had needlessly insulted him and even extended his hostility to her, a girl he had just met, for the sole reason that she'd been on Draco's side. She noticed Ginny's glares, and Hermione's suspiciousness. She noticed that maybe they were good friends to each other, but they were not to her.

And perhaps it was the same with Draco, to a certain extent. She knew of his family tree, of his upbringing, she knew the name of his future wife and children. She knew of his past grievances and future horrors. She had known and expected him to be the very worst, but when she had truly gotten to know him, she had also gotten to know a boy who could be intelligent, funny, and at times even kind. She had gotten to know him as so much more than what Harry Potter had ever seen him as. And she found that person was someone she would risk harbouring in her home, bringing all across the country to a safehouse, defending against the Boy-Who-Lived – heck, even face Dumbledore for.

August 4, 1996
London

Despite the clear and heart-warming realisation that she had made a true friend in Draco, she couldn't find sleep. Or perhaps it was exactly because of it, that she feared that by the time morning would come and the truth would be revealed, the friendship would only be on her part. Indeed, she feared that if she would have to explain how she knew of the secret headquarters, there would be no concealing the other things that she knew – especially not with an all-knowing person like Dumbledore doing the questioning.

It must have been far past midnight when Sophie determined that her only chance was to tell Draco before morning. Perhaps if she came clean to him before tomorrow, she would have time to explain and he would be more understanding of her deception. And so it was that she turned on her side, cracking open one eye to find both Hermione and Ginny fast asleep. She carefully pushed off the covers and slipped into her awaiting socks and, after some consideration, left her shoes where they were.

Sneaking across the old and creaking landing was harder than expected, and she was relieved when she'd finally made it to the third floor without waking up Mrs Black and with her, the rest of the house. This left Sophie before the closed door of Draco's room however, where she remained several long minutes before she raised her hand and rapped the door softly. When no answer came, she knocked again. Still nothing.

After a moment of hesitation, she pushed down the handle and slipped into the darkness. Inside all was silent, and she noticed Draco's unmoving form in the narrow bed at the left. The moonlight that streamed in through the narrow – artificial? – window illuminated his white hair and pale face, and his right arm that hung down from the side of the bed. For a moment, she was relieved to find it bare of any mark – only to have her mind supply her with the obscure fact that the Dark Mark was placed on an individual's left forearm.

Sophie moved closer quite unconsciously, for a moment her verdict forgotten as she considered the peacefulness that seemed so uncharacteristic on his face. With a start, she was reminded that he was just a boy, just a sixteen year-old kid. They all were, aged beyond their years to fight a war they should not be fighting. Or they would be, soon.

All of a sudden the figure bolted up, arm shooting out to the nightstand before brandishing the wand in her direction. A moment passed, then he lowered his wand, though the annoyed expression on his face remained, 'What, in Merlin's name, are you doing here in the middle of the night?'

She stood motionless for a moment, suddenly all thought of why she had come up here banished from her mind. Blinking, all she seemed to be able to think was how badly she wanted to give him a hug and tell him everything was going to be alright – and then she remembered. She had to tell him that she'd known about the safehouse, about Voldemort, about him, all along. She had to tell him she was a time-traveling anomaly, who should never have even existed in this world.

She breathed in deeply, opened her mouth – and chickened out at the last second. 'I'm a Muggle.'

Although not the secret that she intended to divulge, her words seemed to have an effect on him all the same. His pale hands played with the wand in their grasp for a moment, before he returned the object to the bedside table. 'Yes, I know.'

Sophie nodded, 'I'm sure being in my home must have made it glaringly obvious, if you had not already guessed when I did not receive my Hogwarts letter.'

'I suspected it even before that – perhaps I knew even, but childishly did not allow myself to think it.'

She passed further into the room, and dropped onto the bed near Draco's feet. 'We were children.'

He shrugged, as if it hardly mattered, and perhaps it didn't. Back when she had first met him, she had been an eighteen year-old girl trapped in the body of a child. And he… well, she supposed in a way Draco Malfoy had been an odd child to begin with, matured and polished in a way that she could have only expected from two radical pureblood parents. Then, she noticed his eyebrows draw together, and he turned to her. 'Yet you did not suspect it.'

'What?'

'That you were a Muggle.'

'I… well, I hoped I wasn't.'

'But neither your parents are…'

'Magical, no. But I have known about the magical world… for a long time, and always dreamed to be a part of it. When I found you, I thought it was destiny's way of telling me that perhaps there was a chance. But…'

He turned his head, following her gaze which had somehow returned to the innocent wooden stick lying on the nightstand. His mercury gaze flickered back to her, then back to the wand, and then – very hesitatingly – the long fingers of his right hand curled around the length of the piece of wood. For a moment it remained there, then he lifted it and, to her surprise, extended it to her handle-first.

Sophie only stared, first at the wand, then at the boy who held it out to her. Was he really offering it? Her own hand came up slowly, so very slowly, fingers as if not her own wrapping around the handle of the wand. The wood felt cool to her touch, yet her hand was all of a sudden clammy against its surface. Draco was watching her with expectation, but at that moment she was hardly aware that he was still in the room, all of her attention fixed on the instrument in her hand. She raised it a little bit, eyes now training on the sock that stuck out of the right shoe that stood next to the bed. As if she had done it a thousand times before, her hand made the careful swish-and-flick movement, her mouth clearly forming the words 'Wingardium leviosa'. And nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened, she scolded herself, but without its usual bite. She had known for a long time that she did not possess any magical abilities, had long come to accept that her presence in the same universe at the Harry Potter storyline was nothing but a coincidence. Yet why did she then feel so crushed now? Could it be that perhaps, perhaps she had still held out some small sliver of hope that she'd been wrong. Perhaps the fact that she had had evidence against her having magical abilities, instead of evidence for her being a Muggle, had somehow kept that tiny hope alive.

She wordlessly passed the wand back to Draco, who returned it on the nightstand. She tried not to look too devastated as she stood, brushing imaginary dust from her pyjamas. 'I should go now, I've kept you up long enough. See you tomorrow morning.' And with those words she made her exit, only just managing to pull the door behind her as the first traitorous tears made their appearance.