A/N: Alright. Uh, yeah, so I did this, too. In case you didn't care to read the first chapter, Aranea Malfoy is Draco's younger sister by a year, which makes her Seventeen.

Chapters that might come hereafter would merely be background to either this chapter or the first.

Aranea had easily spotted Harry the moment Draco had led her into the hall. She'd say it was too easy. He couldn't hide his presence if he tried. The knots in her stomach that coiled tight at the sight of him greeting Greengrass were too common as well. Jealousy did not behove a woman of her standing, as her mother put it. She imagined a lot of mothers preaching as much. She spotted Potter's sister, too, glaring murder at whomever so much glanced in Daphne's general direction.

It was some sort of miracle no one seemed to know about their less-than-platonic relationship.

"I'll go find Parkinson," Draco told her, "Don't make a fool of the Malfoy name." He paused. "Again."

Aranea glared mildly at her brother. "I did no such thing. You, brother mine, made a fool of us if I remember correctly."

His lips thinned and he almost grimaced. "Still, do try and keep more respectable company."

Oh, that little...

"Whatever company I keep I have chosen for their own merit, not by their parents'," she hissed.

"Or lack thereof," Draco uttered, shaking his head. "Fine. Do as you will. Just don't complain when mother becomes upset again."

"Hush now and go," she ordered. "I was told to keep respectable company. Which does not include you, brother mine."

He huffed a low laugh, only mildly offended. "I see how it is. Do at least keep your distance from Potter."

She smiled at him. "Which one?"

"Both preferably," Draco sighed. He departed without another word.

Aranea smiled thinly after him, watching as he found Zabini and Parkinson at their table. Shaking her head, the youngest Malfoy left to do her utmost to defy her brother's wishes. Which is to say, she sought out Potter. The younger one. By mere seconds, she'd been told.

Repeatedly.

Seeing as she was a Ravenclaw, the only thing he had ever been apprehensive of was her name. Both her given and family name. Said he had an unflattering encounter with a giant acromantula once. Aranea had pointed out that she would like it if he compared her to neither a giant spider, nor her older brother. He, in turn, had told her that's she'd have to prove herself and she had called him a rude cad.

He had laughed and she had liked it far too much to not meet him again. It had been her third year, meaning Potter's fourth, and they had occasionally met ever since, even worked on a charms project together once - he as her tutor, that is.

Aranea found him sending young Longbottom over to the rest of Gryffindor's nobility—coincidentally at the opposite side of the room from where most Slytherins had taken their seat. As always, Harry was unnatural aware of her approach and turned around with that lazy half-smile of his before she could announce her presence.

"Sneaking up on me, Miss Malfoy?" he asked teasingly and Aranea found her lips pull into an involuntary smile.

"I never seem to get it quite right," she replied.

He offered her his arm. "You are proficient enough to sneak away from your brother, my dear, that will suffice."

Aranea loathed how much of a smooth talker Potter was. All of the Potters, if Professor Snape was to be believed, but he was a very biased man and the only Potter he ever approved of was Harry's mother and, by extension it seemed, his sister Harriet.

Or maybe he simply preferred red hair.

Sadly, Aranea was very much affected by his smooth, honeyed words.

She could feel her cheeks heat and averted her eyes. Fluttering her lashes at him, she let her lower lip tremble profoundly. "Oh my, what are you accusing me of, Mister Potter?"

He leaned in, encasing her hand in his much larger one. "Nothing I wouldn't do myself if I got to see you."

She swatted at his chest, highly flustered. "Harry you prat! Control yourself!"

His laugh was low, rough and it slid down her spine like warm honey. It was ridiculous what this man could do to her! Not befitting of a Malfoy, her mother would say. Not that I care, Aranea would say.

And she didn't.

He retreated slightly, still smiling. "I blame you, my dear, for absolutely everything."

Aranea glared at him and pinched his arm where her hand still rested. "Whatever for, you brute?"

"My desires, of course," he told her conversationally.

She blinked. "Your—?"

Harry moved, guiding her away from the tables and closer to the dancefloor. "Of course!" he laughed. "You are simply too adorable to not engage with." He paused then grinned slyly at her. "And it has the added benefit of annoying your prat of a brother."

Aranea huffed, ruling in her racing heart. "Must you always quarrel with him?" she asked.

He pulled her onto the dancefloor. She saw her brother frown their way but she knew he would be upset. "I wouldn't have to if only he wouldn't bother me whenever I try to be around you."

She stared up into his green eyes, oddly breathless. "And why, pray tell, would you need to be around me as much?"

The green of his eyes darkened as he bowed his head down, closer to her. "Miss Malfoy, Aranea, I might have taken a liking to you."

She batted her lashes at him, smiling coyly, and as lowly as she could—breathless for her erratic heart—she whispered: "Oh my..."

Aranea enjoyed the way his eyes grew darker in the wake of her words. His hold on her hand grew firm and warm. He pulled her further onto the dancefloor just as the music began to swell and put his hand to her hip.

Respectfully yet so infinitely more meaningful as his grip all but seared her skin through the silk of her gown.

"A dance, Miss Malfoy?" he asked and Aranea knew that if his voice got any lower, her blood would catch fire.

"Of course, Scion Potter," she returned, almost croaking as his eyes stole her breath.

If Daphne's word was anything to go by, then Harry was just as bad as his sister. And that possessiveness that Daphne spoke of would show itself soon.

They were dancing, more or less appropriately—for Harry was spinning her around by far more than was strictly required and enough to make the dance seem silly—and Aranea failed miserably at keeping her face blank. She was smiling and laughing at every exaggerated spin and every twinkle of Harry's bright green eyes. Then the music changed into a piece quite a bit slower than the previous one and the people around them began switching partners clockwise.

Bellamy Thorton, a Ravenclaw in her Year, appeared out of the crowd, having previously danced with her friend Monika, and offered his hand. He obviously expected for Harry to move away as it would be customary for the dance. Usually, four switches to find your original partner again, but Harry would have none of that.

"A dance, Miss Malfoy?" Thorton queried, smoothly sliding into her field of vision, his long honey-blonde hair glittering obtusely in the chandelier light.

Aranea smiled beatifically at him and prepared to do what was expected and simply dance with a few of her classmates for a while - they weren't all that bad, Thorton was a horrible flirt, meaning he was quite horrible at flirting and still insisted on doing it at every turn - but, true to Daphne's description of the Potter twins, Harry was no less possessive than his sister.

"That won't be necessary." Harry pulled her aside, effectively bringing himself between Aranea and Thorton. "We are quite satisfied as is."

She saw Thorton gape wordlessly over Harry's shoulder before he gained his composure. As a noble, he was not used to the way Harry so easily dismissed his customs. "B—But I must insist—!" he argued, but Harry ignored him and led her further into the crowd just as they resumed dancing.

"My, Harry," she began jokingly, "I think you might have offended him."

He ignored her in favour of pulling close, eyes dark upon her own. "You will find, love, that I don't care for the fool." They spun in place and his arm warped around her waist. Aranea found herself frobbed of the ability to breathe as her heart all but stopped. "I care for you and only you."

The green of his eyes was dark and poisonous. Jealous and possessive. It fit Daphne's description of Harriet to a T. She knew it was supposed to be unsightly, being jealous so openly, but Aranea couldn't help herself. She loved the way his eyes burned with the dark.

And, truly, she knew she would be the same in his situation.

"You make me, swoon, Harry," she breathed, trying and failing to sound sarcastic. Instead, it came out as utterly breathless and meek. Gods, she sounded like a scarlet woman.

"Swoon all you wish," he told her, breath hot against her ear. "I will always be there to catch you."

Aranea didn't think she could have been held accountable for kissing him at that moment. Who wouldn't? And Aranea was just as possessive of what was hers as Harry, it seemed, so she would never leave anyone so much of a chance to be in her stead.

Her brother was upset. She couldn't have cared less.