Following the conclusion of the board's absolutely laughable excuse for a meeting, McGonagall visits her quarters just long enough freshen up and check on Wordsworth. While she's doing that, Hermione slips up beside Neville in the entrance hall and lightly kisses his cheek.

Touching his face in surprise, he smiles. "What was that for?"

"For sending up the bat signal in time. That really was brilliant thinking Neville, using the D.A. coins that way. You saved the school with your fast thinking."

Neville shrugs. "No, I didn't. McGonagall is smart enough to know all that stuff without us showing up, or even Shacklebolt. She wouldn't just stand aside and let them put Hogwarts on the chopping block. According to Althea Jordan, things were going our way even before we showed up. Besides, I wouldn't have done anything if Draco hadn't turned up at my place first."

"Yeah okay maybe, but listen Neville, you got us here. Draco wouldn't have figured that out on his own."

"It wasn't difficult. I've used the coins before to call us all back together. It was just a repeat performance."

"But you gave us the chance we needed to be heard. So what, if Shacklebolt did most of the talking. Neville, just think, we're going to form a new student organization. With people like McGonagall and Shacklebolt in charge, people who will at least listen to us, we have a real chance to effect positive change. This is a big deal Neville. You could be our leader."

Neville wrinkles his nose and automatically shakes his head. "Not me. Surely Harry would be the better choice."

"I don't know what your plans are after today, but I do know that Harry will be off pursuing auror training. He's going to be too busy with the ministry to worry about things like student body government. I had to force him into S.P.E.W. and the only reason I managed it is because he's my friend."

"Okay, but Hermione, nobody listens to me."

"They did today, Neville. You're not that lumpy little boy I petrified in first year anymore. You killed the snake. You wielded the sword of Godric Gryffindor. Nobody's going to forget that anytime soon."

Neville smiles again. "I did, didn't"

"Yes, you did. And while I don't want to see you turn into one of those obnoxious people who lords their accomplishments over everyone else, I think you should own it!"

Neville whispers, sharing a confidence "Gran says she wants to be on the board."

Chuckling, Hermione whispers back, "You should encourage her. If she's tough enough to best Dawlish, she is tough enough to be on the board."

"Yeah, she's tough enough alright, but Gran has always been adamantly opposed to such things. She says life is too short to spend it in the company of dunderheads."

"Then why now?"

"She got a kick out of watching Shacklebolt tell Narcissa Malfoy to go copulate with herself. She says, he's 'her kind of people."

"I can't blame her for that. It was pretty memorable."

"Yeah, but I don't know how well that would go over with Draco's mum sitting in her husband's chair on the board. I'm not sure which one of them is worse, but it's bound to be trouble either way. Gran is the one who bloodied Draco's nose."

Hermione eyes widen noticeably. "That was her? I just assumed it was you."

"Not that I wouldn't have liked to do the honors, but I was too busy trying to keep Gran out of Azkaban. You know the Malfoys would chuck her in there without a backward glance."

Hermione nods gravely. "I still think you should encourage her. If Draco hasn't told his mother the truth yet, he's probably not going to. He's probably embarrassed. I mean, what 17-year-old boy wants to admit he got popped in the face by little old lady who's barely five feet tall, walks with a cane, and weighs 100 pounds soaking wet."

"We'll see. If she takes a mind to do it, she won't need me to encourage her. There will be no talking her out of it."

Hermione nods. "I've got to run. I want to see Harry and Ron before I head back to Australia. Really good job today Neville."

He smiles and waves as she trots away leaving him to mull over her suggestions.

Twenty minutes later, Draco is standing beside his mother who is talking to Calvin Callahan at the end of the viaduct. Tuning their conversation out completely, he stands there, a sour look on his face, as he pretends not to watch Ron, Harry, and Hermione saying their goodbyes in a spot just beyond the border of the grounds of Hogwarts. When Hermione rises up on tiptoe and kisses the redheaded dolt square on the mouth, Draco sneers and mutters quietly to himself, "Filthy, disgusting!"

Narcissa glances his way. "Did you say something darling?"

"I said, can we go already? I'm hungry, and I need some ice for my nose."

Narcissa studies him in uncertainty. She knows that's not what he said, but she decides not to press the issue. Besides, she has a few things she'd like to say too, and this is not the place to do it. Saying a quick goodbye to Calvin, she takes her son's arm in hers and steps over the boundary; apparating on the spot.

No sooner than the drawing room door at Malfoy Manor closes, Narcissa stomps toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Draco follows.

His mother says nothing at all until she is viciously impaling a small block of ice with an ominously sharp ice pick. Then, she hisses barely above a whisper, "How dare you humiliate me like that!"

Already knowing they would have this discussion, Draco shrugs, "By taking a position? I don't want the school to close Mother. Why should you find that humiliating?"

"You could've told me that privately, instead of waiting until we were in public to make your opposition known."

"Oh, you mean the same way you talked to me before you decided to try and shut down my school?"

Narcissa continues to stab away at the ice. "First of all, I didn't decide. Your father did, but honestly Draco, I didn't know you cared. I fail to see what the problem is. It's not like you're going back there next fall. What do you care if the place closes?"

"I care. That's all. Why do you always have to do his bidding?"

"It's a wife's place to support her husband."

"You don't ever have an opinion that differs from his?"

"Of course I do, but what does that matter. My place is beside him."

"You're not a robot, Mother. You're allowed to think for yourself."

"I know that, Draco."

"So then, it's not just him. You want the school to close too? Why? So you don't have to look at it anymore?"

"Draco, what are you talking about?" She thrusts a hot water bottle full of ice at him.

"Never mind. Forget it!"

"I don't want to forget it. I want you to talk to me. You've been in a foul mood for days... Ever since they took your father away. You don't have to worry. He's coming back son."

Draco rolls his eyes. "You don't understand. That's not why I'm in a bad mood."

"Then explain it to me."

"See, stupid me, I thought things would be different with him gone. You know, better. Turns out it's just more of the same. Only now it's actually worse. It's one thing if everybody in town thinks your dad is an evil tyrant. Once he proves it… If they lock him up, I'm never going to escape being the son of a death eater."

"Draco, a man has to be willing to stand up for what he believes."

"Yeah, so I've been told, over and over and over and over again. That's great. Dad is standing up for what he believes - and I'm paying the price."

"It's what you believe too, Draco."

"Is it? I don't even know. You two have been telling me what I believe my whole life!"

He stomps out of the room. When he's halfway up the kitchens stairs Narcissa queries, "Where are you going?"

"My room!"

"Draco! Wait, we're not finished here!"

Her only reply is the sound of his bedroom door slamming. Turning back toward the kitchen counter, she realizes he left his ice pack behind. She hurls it into the sink in frustration. Then, an hour later, she surrenders, orders the housekeeper to make him a snack, pours out the melted ice, refills the pack, and carries it up to him; an icy cold peace offering.

She knocks on his closed door and as she steps into the room, he quickly tucks something into the drawer of his bedside table. Pretending she hasn't noticed; she perches on the side of the bed and plops the hot water bottle full of ice into his lap. "Griselda is making you a sandwich…Maybe I should have asked you first – about the school. For what it's worth, I honestly didn't think you'd care one way or the other. Can we call a truce, please? I miss your father so much. I don't think I can handle it if you're angry with me on top of everything else."

"Do you really? Miss Dad, I mean."

"Sure. Don't you?"

Draco shrugs and looks at his knees, whispering, "Not really."

Stunned, Narcissa exhales quietly, "Draco!"

Draco's face twists into a repugnant scowl as he groans, "How can I? Why should I? Everything has to be his way or no way. Mum, he's exhausting! Why couldn't you have told him no just once? You just had to let him play the magnanimous host?"

"Draco, I'm lost. What are you talking about?"

"Voldemort. Dad just had to invite him here."

"I wasn't thrilled about it either son."

"Then why didn't you tell him so? Dad liked to walk around blabbing to anyone who would listen about how Dumbledore masterminded the whole thing. How he used precious Saint Potter to annihilate his enemy because he was too old and too weak to do it himself. Don't you understand? Don't you see? Voldemort tried to do the exact same thing to me. You let him in here. Now you want to destroy the only other place that feels familiar to me. So, yeah! I'm in a lousy mood! You think I like thinking that I have anything in common with Harry 'everybody loves me' Potter!"

"It worked out alright."

Draco smirks. "Only because you got Snape to make that vow."

Narcissa pales, her complexion going past milky to downright ghostly. "How do you know about that?"

"Mother, I know about that because I'm not stupid! Now Snape is dead. So is Dumbledore, and Potter knows I'm the reason why."

Narcissa squeezes his shoulder. "Has he threatened you? Are you afraid of him?"

Scoffing, Draco pushes her hand away. "Of course not. That's really not his style anyway."

"Okay, then you listen to me. You're not the reason why either of those men is dead. They're dead because of Voldemort. You're not to blame." She pauses when the maid brings the sandwich in, and as Draco takes his first ample bite, she realizes that he wasn't just making up an excuse to leave this school. He really was hungry. "Eat your lunch, darling, and then ice that nose. It really is quite puffy. You should be more careful. Watch where you're going, or at least learn to catch yourself when you trip. Your nose won't look half as handsome after you've broken it. I've got some shopping to do."

Draco sighs but nods dutifully as she leaves the room.

Later that evening after exhausting several shopkeepers, Narcissa returns home. Finding Draco in the shower, she slips into his room and opens the drawer of his nightstand curious about what he had hidden away earlier in the day. She's only mildly surprised when she comes up with a photograph clipped from the Hogwarts Herald. In it, Hermione Granger is smiling brightly.

It's Saturday morning when the timepiece pinned two inches below her left shoulder chimes so softly that it's nearly inaudible. Lifting the pendant from the front of her blouse, McGonagall looks at the clock face curiously. "Goodness. It's 10:00 AM already."

"You're off to Caithness, then?" Flitwick asks genially."

"In about half an hour; but I better stop work now if I'm going to be on time." Turning her gaze to Harry, she adds, "I'll be back tomorrow evening."

Harry nods his understanding, and Flitwick adds, "Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Professor."

She stows her wand and deftly turns the Comet 180 she's perched on and says over her shoulder, "Hold the fort down Filius and, when you get home tomorrow night, tell Fatima I appreciate her letting me keep you all weekend. I'll make it up to her somehow."

"No need. She's at her mother's this weekend. Which reminds me, she told me to ask you to accompany me to the All-England competition this year."

Mild concern finds its way to McGonagall's face. "She's not going with you this year? I thought the two of you made a weekend of it. If I'm not mistaken, it is something of a tradition."

"Sadly, Talia's health isn't going to allow for it this year. Tima is going to stay with her, but she doesn't want me to go to the competition alone." He shrugs unable to explain his wife's reticence.

"Filius…" McGonagall explains patiently. "She doesn't want you to go alone in case you're injured, and you can tell her, I will be delighted to be your plus one."

"I haven't been seriously injured for 16 years."

"Just because it hasn't happened recently doesn't mean it can't happen. Don't become complacent Obi-Wan."

He laughs. "Which is precisely why my wife wants you to be the one to accompany me. She knows you'll perform admirably in her stead; keep me on my toes."

"When is the competition scheduled for?"

"Sunday, fortnight."

"I'll put it on my calendar." She calls as she glides effortlessly down the corridor before swooping out of sight through a narrow gap in the obstruction of fallen flagstone that makes a sixth-floor stairwell impassable on foot.

Puzzled, Harry turns curious eyes to the tiny charms professor. "Sir?"

Flitwick smiles, assuming he knows what's coming. "Never seen her fly before, have you?"

"Eh, well, now you mention it; no, I haven't. How does she keep from sliding off? I've never seen anyone sit side-saddle in flight before."

Flitwick chuckles merrily. "She was only hovering while doing repair work. This makes for some pretty low-key flying. It doesn't exactly require her to fly competitively. Professor Sprout once told me that she would've played side-saddle if only she could swing a bludger and keep her mount while seated in that attitude, but she had a diabolical backhand swing - took herself right off the broom the first time she tried it while sitting side-saddle. Good thing she was only 4 feet above the ground when she did it."

"Quidditch? McGonagall?" Harry blinks twice. "But of course!" He laughs at himself. "I should have known."

"Wish I had seen it for myself. That would've been a sight to behold. Sprout says she was the one to beat in her time. Gryffindor carried the house cup all her years with the team except for the last."

"Let me guess." Harry nearly spits in disgust. "Slytherin?"

"Afraid so. She took a bad fall in her final game. Sprout says we nearly lost her."

Harry shakes his head. "No wonder she has such a strong desire to see any other team trounce Slytherin, but especially Gryffindor." He raises an eyebrow, "What's the All-England competition?"

Swishing his wand and watching his repair work as he talks, Flitwick answers, "The All-England Wizard's Dueling Competition. This year's tournament is two weeks away."

Harry's eyes widen slightly with surprise. "I've read about that! You have to be a highly accomplished duelist just to get your foot in the door."

"I have no doubt you could claim the title within your division, probably several brackets above your age group."

"Maybe." Harry shrugs. "I don't want to duel for sport though." He wrinkles his nose and then adds hastily, "No offense, Professor."

"None taken." Flitwick assures. "Not many who are truly good at it do. Those of us who respect the power we wield understand that it's not a game. I got into the competition when I was younger hoping to learn to both, challenge, and protect myself. Now it's just a way to keep my skills sharp."

"I don't understand. You're part goblin, right?"

Flitwick nods with pride. "I am."

"So, can't you just use goblin magic? According to everything I've read, it's different, more potent, than the powers of most wizards and witches."

"Yes, it is. I can raise my hands and instantly deal with almost any adversary." He raises an eyebrow. "Bit of an unfair advantage against most people, don't you think?"

Harry nods, silently marveling at the differences between Flitwick and Griphook.

"My dad was a goblin. My mother is a squib. As a child, I was singled out, as much for what my father was, as for what my mom isn't. In my adolescence, I had my fair share of confrontations, but, thanks to my mother's teaching, it didn't take me long to discover that besting my enemies with a mere snap of my fingers made it pretty hard to look at myself in the mirror without flinching in disgust."

Harry nods again with newfound respect for the man. "For a long time, I was my cousin Dudley's favorite punching bag. Then, I found out I was a wizard. After the end of my first year here at Hogwarts, I thought it would be nice to go back to the Dursley's and, for once, have the advantage over him. The first time I ever threatened to use magic against him… Well, I realized just how pathetic he is. How unfair it really would be."

Flitwick nods. "And winning that way - isn't winning.

Harry points his wand at a section of badly cracked wall. "Nope… Doesn't mean I didn't enjoy scaring the devil out of him once or twice."

Flitwick chuckles. "Bet he doesn't use you for a punching bag anymore."