I am NOT My Brother's Keeper

by CamTheThief

Harry Evans wasn't special. He was just another orphan trying to survive. Everything changed when a mysterious woman told him that magic was real, confirming that which he had always hoped for but never dared to believe. He's not the Boy-Who-Lived. He's not a hero. He's just a hedonistic 16-year-old with money, drive, and the spirit for adventure. Hogwarts is going to be fun.

14. Chapter 14

Author's Note:

Hey all, so, wanted to let you know that part of the reason this chapter took so long to come out was that while writing it, I decided to re-write CHAPTER 6 almost entirely. I would highly recommend going back to re-read that chapter as a lot changed within it. Because of the changes, I also went back to edit various scenes in chapters 7, 9, 11, and 13. The edits aren't as important to see since contextually it's easy to guess how they might have changed, but chapter 6 is drastically different from what it was before - longer too. So, yeah, basically wrote two chapters even though only one is reflected in the updates. Regardless, here's chapter 14, a weird one where I decided to mess around and get a little experimental in some ways, but I'm fond of it on the whole.
I'll also go ahead and mention here that I will be going back to re-write chapters 1 and 2 before chapter 15 ever gets posted. I don't have an exact time-line on how long that will take since I'm me (I'm mercurial, at best) and school is starting up again, just wanted you all to be aware of that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Cheers.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You don't think I want to help? You think I'm okay with what that monster is doing?! Of course, I'm not! How could I be…? I'm sorry, Dumbledore, I really am, but my answer is no. I just… I can't risk my family's safety for anything." -Arthur Weasley to Albus Dumbledore after being invited to join the Order of the Phoenix. February 1970.

Chapter 14:

Harry tossed another chip onto the pile with a self-deprecating laugh. The amount he had to spare were few in number at this point, but he wasn't going to lose all hope until he was completely derelict.

"Running a bit low there, eh?"

Harry turned his gaze to meet that of his best friend and the smug grin he was flashing. "Maybe so, Weasley, but I'm not out yet." The hand he'd been dealt wasn't a bad one, an ace-diamond, suited, certainly something he could work with depending on what made it to the table.

Ron, who was boasting a pile of chips noticeably larger than anyone else currently seated, gestured around the table with one hand as the other played with his chips. "No, but most of them are. Folding before the flop like that? I mean, I get it, but I just don't fold. It's so boring to fold, you know? So, I decided a few hands ago: no more folding."

A good-natured chuckle escaped the lips of Cedric Diggory even though he was the first one to give up on the hand. "If you'd seen my hand, Ron, you'd fold too."

"Nah, mate, you folded without even knowing what you had. Just like I don't know what I have yet. We'll see after the flop. Could be anything, could be nothing. We'll see." Ron responded easily even as he called the bet Harry had made.

Ron was more talkative and more confident than he ever had been before in the months that Harry had known him. While normally not quiet or shy by any means, the freckled red-head did not go out of his way to call attention to himself unless he was having another bout with Granger over any number of subjects. He was just Ron, an average bloke among the population of Hogwarts. That normal personality might as well have been another individual entirely when contrasted with the confident and brazen persona he displayed with a pile of chips in front of him and two cards resting under his fingertips.

From the moment the game had begun, Ron had been unrelenting in his play. He didn't win every single hand, the game of poker wasn't designed in such a way for that to be feasible, but it was undeniable that he was winning more than anyone else at the table. Even more so than the bets he made or the bluffs he told; Ron took over the table through his method of playing the other players as much as the cards themselves. The way he bantered and interacted, mixing quips and jokes with insightful comments on how others played. Noting every little detail of their own attempts to bluff and calling it out for all to hear. There was an element to his style that was almost disrespectful, but it was so damn effective that no one could rightfully call him out on it.

Harry was well aware that he was not immune to the effects of Ron's play. The little jibes and comments made him second-guess every single move he made. Though only on the scale of a single game of poker, Ron was exhibiting a master-class of social insight and manipulation. The youngest Weasley son had skill when it came to the mechanics of the game itself, accurately assessing his hands and what he can do with them relative to what everyone else possesses… but poker was popular precisely because it had a wonderfully human element to every single round of play… and somehow, Ronald Weasley was the best at the table.

By all rights, it shouldn't have been a surprising turn of events. Harry had seen firsthand Ron's grasp of strategy when playing chess or discussing old wars during History of Magic. The guy had the mind of a tactician, and today it was on full display.

"And let me guess, once the flop comes out, you're going to raise?" Ernie MacMillan, the blonde teen whom Harry had initially barely recognized, decided to join the conversational fray even as he called the bet himself, keeping the number of active hands at four.

"Me?" Ron pointed to himself dramatically. "I'm just following Harry's lead here, right Harry? What are you playing with over there? You got the makings of a straight? A flush? High card at least, right?"

Harry didn't even try and school his features. He wasn't the type to bluff by giving away as little information as possible. Sometimes, it was better to lean into the accusations. "You catch a glimpse of my cards, Weasley? Or are you just guessing every hand until you've covered them all?"

A hearty chuckle escaped the teen's throat as he rolled a sickle between his fingers. "If I keep guessing, one of them is bound to be right, yeah? Bloody good strategy if I say so myself."

"Only because you have an infinite number of guesses that don't affect the outcome of the round." The lovely girl by the name of Cho Chang sitting in the third chair chimed in. "If your incorrect guesses brought upon you an element of consequence, your strategy would be a rather poor one, no?" The second year Ravenclaw had spent half the evening making doe eyes at mister tall, dark, and Hufflepuff, but the other half she'd spent engaging everyone at the table in surprisingly pleasant and intelligent conversation. Though, it'd be a lie to say her efforts weren't still focused on Diggory.

"True, but in the end my guesses don't hurt me." Ron countered, tapping his fingers against the table, signaling his intent to check. "Who am I kidding though, right? It's not strategy, I just love to talk when playing games. Ask my brothers, all I do is talk. Talk, talk, talk-talk-talk, I never shut up. I just can't help myself."

"I wonder why," the since identified girl that Harry would likely see in his dreams, Rae Lawson, accompanied her comment with a small giggle as she rested her chin in her palm

Goddamn, she's cute, Harry mused, turning his gaze away as the flop came out - a Seven, King, and Nine of spades flush draw. A pair with an Ace high was a pretty decent hand by Harry's estimation, even with the cards on the table being risky to play against.

"See, Cedric? What'd I tell you? Never know what you might have. Flush, potential straight even. Over two-million combinations of cards, you'll miss a lot of them if you fold too early," Ron addressed the older Hufflepuff, but his sage wisdom was offered to all within earshot… wisdom he'd likely abandon if his hand was total shite. "What will it be, MacMillan? You going to go the way of your Housemate or are you going to bluff and stay in?"

MacMillan raised an eyebrow confusedly. "What makes you think I'd need to bluff?"

An exaggerated shrug was Ron's only reply. "Same reason I think you'd have already raised if that flop had done anything for you. Maybe the turn will give you more than what you've got, I'm guessing a pair, but you'd be relying on the table too much to give you that extra edge."

"Raise, 100." MacMillan declared confidently, one finger running along the edge of his drink as he stared down his competition.

"Bluffing to prove to me that you can bluff," Ron taunted, calling the raise. "I respect it, I respect it. What about you, Harry?"

"Call," Harry said simply, tossing five chips into the center of the table. Rae, the fourth and final active player of the hand didn't hesitate to match the bet, her perfectly manicured nails pushing a small pile forward.

"Four for four, I like those numbers, let's see the turn then!"

The 10 of diamonds was drawn and placed face-up alongside its brethren. Harry did his best to not let his features shift, but the way Ron's gaze was fixated on him made it damn near impossible to keep a straight face. The red-head's grin was almost infectious in this setting.

"Not a good draw for you, huh?" Ron queried, pointing down towards the freshly placed, double digit card.

It was almost maddening how every little comment he made forced everyone else to consider how they would respond, or even if they should reply at all. Ron wouldn't even have to pay attention to the words that exited their lips, the simple act of forcing others to think about whether or not to answer had value. Whether said answer would be truthful, the specific choice of words, even the inflection in which they were delivered could just further increase the redhead's gains, but they weren't a requirement. The moment those treacherous thoughts made themselves known; Ron had already succeeded with his distraction.

The truth of the matter was that Ron was correct in his assessment, it wasn't a very good card at all. It contributed absolutely nothing to the potential hands he could make while further opening the potential for someone else to complete a straight or pair higher than his own.

"Check." MacMillan saved Harry from his silence by announcing his next move.

"Check, huh?" Ron mused. "Sorry lads and lady, no free cards this round. I'm going to take a chance and make some money. That sound good to you? Taking a chance!" He punctuated his words by slamming his chip laden hand down onto the felt. "200. What say you, Harry, ye bastard of ill repute?"

Harry couldn't hold back his genuine fit of laughter as he rotated in his leather backed chair to look at his friend. "Ill repute? Ron, if you've been hearing rumors about me and not sharing, we're going to have an issue…"

Ron shook his head while placing his hand over his heart dramatically. "Honestly, mate, I haven't heard anything…" A large, crooked grin split the teen's face. "I have been spreading quite a few though."

A loud guffaw sounded from Harry's lips as he threw in his chips to call. "I can't wait to steal this pot from you, Ron." A wise man would have probably folded, but Harry wanted to take the risk that he could steal a hand off Ron when the bloke was trying to win.

"He goaded you, Evans," Rae Lawson taunted as she slid her cards back to the dealer.

Harry raised his glass in the Slytherin's direction in acknowledgement, winking as he did so. If said action drew more attention to his eyes, eyes which received regular compliments from girls, well, that was okay in his book. "Oh, of that I am quite aware… but what's a little bit of money when weighed against the chance that I actually get to take him down a peg?"

Rae laughed but still shrugged her pale shoulders, barren aside from the lone strap on either side that held up her low-cut black dress. "And if he wins the hand? All the satisfaction is his to covet and you're left with less to play with for your next attempt."

"True, but maybe I just don't care about the overall results that much," Harry said, speaking truthfully to both himself and the table. Despite his previous bet of pride with Ron, he couldn't care less whether he was able to beat his friend in a game of poker. Even with the amount of money involved, it was nothing more than a game to him. Win or lose, Harry would be okay, as would everyone else at the table. "Besides, Ron needs a victory in life more than I do right now. Isn't that right, Ron?"

"Damn right it is," Ron agreed instantly, drawing laughter from everyone who had bothered to listen. Harry wasn't sure the guy had even heard the question, but he appreciated that even when in his element and trying to rob the table of their money, Ron still had the instinctual reaction to just agree with the random question. It was why he was Harry's best friend.

"Down to us three, lads," Ron said, gesturing to the table cards. "River is going to decide it all. You didn't raise the turn, MacMillan. Still feeling confident?"

MacMillan took a sip of his own drink even as he nodded. "Just wanted to give you a false sense of security, Weasley."

Ron wasn't given a chance to respond before the fifth and final card was placed face up for all to see. The three of diamonds would've been great for Harry had the potential for a flush existed, but that was stomped out with the flop. All he was playing with was a pair of nines, which didn't leave him confident as to the final results.

"400," MacMillan called out, sliding more of his chips toward the ever-growing pot.

"Ooh, another bet," Ron murmured, fiddling with a small stack of chips in his hand but cutting it in half before reassembling it completely. A repetitive motion that allowed him to do something with his hands. Not surprising at all for anyone who knew Ron, the guy was often a bit fidgety in class. "I'm guessing that you have Jacks or Queens, right? Jacks or Queens with a spade?"

The small smile that worked its way onto MacMillan's lips was telling.

"Ah hah! I got him! You're laughing! Jacks or Queens with a spade! I guessed it!" Ron's exuberance was downright infectious.

"I'm laughing because that's the fifth guess you've made this hand," MacMillan countered, not making any real effort to fight back the smile since he'd been called out on it.

"We covered this already, weren't you listening? I love to guess, it's so much fun when I get it right…" Ron paused as he deliberately counted out a pile of chips. "And since I'm right, let's see what you all make of this! Raise to 800."

If Ron was correct and MacMillan really did have pockets Jacks or Queens, then there wasn't a chance in hell for Harry to beat it. He could try and bluff his way out, but given that he hadn't raised once, they'd likely see right through him. Even though there was a part of him that wanted to see if Ron was blowing nothing but hot air, it just wasn't worth it to keep going in on such a large pot.

"Fold," Harry said, tossing his cards away, deliberately ignoring the smug grin Ron sent his way.

"What happened to taking him down a peg?" Rae Lawson asked from the other side of Lavender's chair, the bombshell blonde having stepped away to grab herself another drink.

Harry shrugged. "What can I say, the river card wasn't very kind to me."

"Rarely is," She laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. An action that caused Harry to notice the earrings she wore, a strange black gem with a green sheen situated on the end of a thin silver chain. At a glance, he had never seen a gem quite like it.

"How callous of you, laughing at my financial losses like that," Harry teased, miming wiping away a nonexistent tear as he slumped backwards in his seat. "How will you ever make it up to me?"

The older girl smirked and pointedly met his gaze before taking a long drink from the rim of her glass and letting her tongue dart across her lips. "Use your imagination, Evans, I'm sure something will come to you."

Never let it be said that Harry didn't have a very active imagination. "I'll hold you to that, Miss Lawson," he said quietly, his confident smile overtaking the faux frown he wore before.

"Oh, so formal," she teased. "Call me Rae, everyone else does."

"Then you can call me Harry," he replied in turn, though their flirting was cut short by Ron's exuberant exclamation.

"I have a King," the redhead declared happily, flipping his King of Diamonds for all to see, his two of the same suit almost an afterthought in the face of the pair that won him the hand.

"Fucking hell, I should have run for the hills when you called my hand," MacMillan grumbled good-naturedly as he flipped over his pocket set of Jacks with a lone spade, the exact hand Ron had guessed. "Seriously, it's bloody scary how many times you've done that tonight."

Harry quietly agreed with the chip bereft Hufflepuff. Ron's ability to guess hands was downright uncanny, so much so that his mind could not help but wonder if the redhead had a latent talent for the esoteric mind-reading ability that Tom had possessed. The chances of that were borderline non-existent since Ron did not seem to display the talent in any other aspect of his life, but still, magic was a peculiar beast… for all Harry knew, his best friend might have been tapping into elements of the arcane beyond either of their understanding for the sake of a bloody card game. Or he could just be obscenely skilled at poker and how to read people and the conditions of any respective hand. There didn't have to be anything supernatural about Ron's skill, he could just be that damn good; the more he thought about it, the more inclined Harry was to believe such was the case.

"I didn't believe the rumors your brothers peddled about you, but I can admit I was wrong not to," Cedric Diggory nodded at Ron, a small grin on his lips. "You're a right talent at cards."

Ron waved off the compliment almost bashfully but didn't go so far as to deny it. "Thanks, mate, but I still wouldn't believe shite my brothers tell you. Especially the twins. Couple of gits the two of them are. They'll offer you one truthful statement to lull you in, and then lie to your face for three years straight."

Cedric laughed uproariously at that, his sudden motion almost knocking the drink out of Chang's hand. "Sorry about that, love," he remarked to her, smiling in a way only guys that looked as good as him could before turning back to Ron. "That does sound like Fred and George."

"You Weasleys are a unique lot, no one can take that away from you," Robert Hilliard, the student in the eighth and final chair, long since having introduced himself as a sixth year Ravenclaw, chimed in with his own bit of commentary on the redheaded brood.

"You know my brothers?" Ron asked, a questioning lilt entering his voice.

Hilliard shrugged. "It's hard not to know of Charlie Weasley after his stint as a Seeker, but I've also come to know Percy this year… We're both prefects, so we've patrolled together," he added after a brief pause.

"Fair enough, I think I'll take 'unique' as a compliment then."

"You should," Hilliard laughed, "I meant it to be one."

As the table settled in for the next hand, Harry made a quiet vow to himself. He wasn't going to win it all, but at the very least he wanted to beat Ron's hand when the guy thought he couldn't. Galleons be damned, he was chasing that hint of satisfaction above all else. Everyone else was tertiary, at this point, he was playing his best friend. Well, that wasn't quite true. If he could keep flirting with the hot, older Slytherin girl, that would be a nice touch to the evening as well.

OoooOoooO

"Evening, Tom. How have you been of late?"

"Minister?! Well, I'll be damned, it's been a long while since you came to my old establishment. Wouldn't call it evening though any longer, we're well into morning by now, aren't we?"

"Too true. 'Morningcap' doesn't quite have the same ring to it though, does it?"

"I won't argue with that. What can I get you today, sir?"

"Oh, let's see… I'll have a spot of Dragon Barrel Brandy, neat, if you don't mind. Oh, and a water for Miles here. Chap refuses anything but water when on protection detail. Won't even drink tea."

"Coming right up, sir. But what brings you here so late, or early, as it were? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

"Not at all, not at all. I'll spare you the cumbersome details but suffice to say, I just finished up a very, very long meeting between myself, Madame Prickle, she's the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, two representatives from the Wizengamot Administration Services, Lucius Malfoy, and Baxter Rich, the Head of the Centaur Liaison Office. When we were done, I just needed a spot of brandy, and I wasn't quite ready to go home yet."

"That's a lot of important names there, sir. I can't say I understand the weight on your shoulders, but I hope you're all able to get it worked out. Here's your brandy, and your water, Mr. Stone."

"Ah, thank you, Tom. I'm sure everything will work out in the end, but the process can still be quite stressful. Your decision to run this old pub was a wise one. Spares you from the endless migraine that is politics."

"I don't think I would've had the brain for politics even if the Leaky Cauldron wasn't my calling, sir. Mind if I ask if you're going for re-election in a few years' time?"

"I absolutely will be, yes indeed. I may gripe and moan now and again but serving as this nation's Minister for Magic is the greatest honor of my life. I couldn't imagine doing anything else."

"Well, sir, you can always count on my vote. You've done right by me and mine since your time in office."

"I appreciate that, Tom. I really do. That's enough about me though, how have you been?"

"I've been doing well, actually just got back the other day from a trip to Berlin."

"What was the occasion?"

"An autumn festival that's held every year in Tiergarten, an old park in the city. I've got some distant family that live in the countryside, and we try and meet up every once in a while. Well, this time I made an event of it as well. Got myself a little booth set up and spent the weekend serving ale and an order of my beef stew to anybody with the coin."

"Sounds like an excellent way to spend the weekend. If life permits, I might have to look into attending next year."

"You and the missus would love it, I'm sure. Good food, drink, live music, and so many other little events I couldn't even begin to keep track of 'em all."

"Are children allowed to attend?"

"That's right, I forgot your grandkids might want to go. During the day-time, absolutely. Lots of fun things for them to enjoy. At night, it gets a bit rowdier, but that's to be expected once the drinks begin to flow and the girls let their hair down, so to speak."

"Merlin, I wish I'd known a week ago. Do you know how long it's been since I did something just for the fun of it?"

"I'm guessing a fair bit?"

"To say the least. I do love my position, but I would be lying if I said it didn't take its toll."

"Your job is a lot more important than mine, sir, but you can't lose your life to work. You should take one evening this week and go catch a game of Quidditch. Puddlemere versus Ballycastle is the premiere match this week. Second and Third place duking it out for a chance to catch up to the Magpies. It's supposed to be a good one."

"Tom, were you aware that Puddlemere is my favorite team?"

"I may have read the articles of how you enjoy attending a game or two of theirs when your schedule permits. For the upcoming match, I'd bet you could get some nice seats, enjoy a pint or two, and cheer on young Benjy to catch the snitch since there isn't a chance of the chasers scoring too many on Dexter Marsh."

"Benjy is a bright-spot, to be sure. I was surprised when the team announced him. Just a kid fresh out of school hailing from Indonesia. I would've never expected it, but Merlin, that kid can fly."

"Truer words were never spoken. Tis a damn shame he can't participate on the British National team, but if his home country picks him up, I might just have to support them in the World Cup too."

"I would love to see that happen, but we'll have to see. I must say, you're a canny one, Tom, trying to tempt me to take some time off... I don't think my secretary would have kind words for you if she knew."

"Well, with all due respect for your staff, sir, sometimes a man just needs an evening of relaxation to get back to work the next day, focused and recharged. That's one of the lessons the old owner of this old place taught me. Work is good for the soul, but you need rest too."

"You're a wise man, Tom."

"I don't know about that, Minister, but I do my best."

OoooOoooO

Harry stared at the retreating form of Rae Lawson with a mixture of curiosity and lust in his eyes. The sashaying of her hips and clinging of the fabric on her ass ensured he would watch her leave no matter what, as it was a sight anyone with an interest in the fairer sex would be loath to miss… but even beyond his sexual urges, her parting comment had piqued his sense of intrigue. Ever since his first comment made in her direction, their casual flirtations throughout the night had continued with both of them becoming progressively bolder, giving Harry the confidence to eventually imply they should go somewhere private with their drinks. Her response, however, surprised him.

"As tempted as I am to say yes, Harry, I'm afraid I can't tonight. I'm sure we would have fun together, but… when opportunity knocks, I can't help but open the door."

Harry could still feel the lingering impact of her soft, teasing kiss upon his cheek, an action that hinted of what was to come without promising anything. Cheeky minx. Whenever he'd been turned down in the past, irrespective of the reason why, he had simply shrugged his shoulders and moved on for the evening. But this time, with this girl, his mind kept circling back to a single question: Just what opportunity did Rae Lawson see tonight that she couldn't pass up? The question lingered in his mind, but in spite of his pondering, Harry didn't have the slightest clue as to what she would be doing with the remainder of her evening. Their flirtations had revealed very little about her as an individual beyond her overwhelming confidence, so he couldn't even begin to guess her motives or goals - the possibilities were simply too numerous in number.

The arrival of a heavily inebriated blonde falling into the chair to his left before her hands encircled his neck and her head met his shoulder was more than enough to distract Harry from his thoughts on Rae Lawson. "Harryyyyy," Lavender Brown, one of many resident drunk girls and guys of the party, did not raise her head as she fixatedly looked across the room with a pout.

Harry, bemused with her sudden arrival but not displeased by it, maneuvered himself so one arm encircled the girl's shoulders. Honestly, he should probably get her back to the dorms before she crashed completely, she was getting pretty damn close to that point. "What's up, love?"

"My boyfriend… he's leaving with another girl!" She was indignant as her hand vaguely pointed towards either a throng of roughly twenty people or an empty doorframe. It was impossible to tell which.

It took him a brief moment to process the utterly insane comment that exited his friend's lips. "Lav," Harry said dryly, "unless something has changed in the last thirty minutes, I'm pretty sure you don't have a boyfriend." Though, if he were being honest, it wasn't impossible that the gorgeous girl had ensnared a boy in that timeframe. Even then, he was willing to bet a sizable portion of Ron's winnings for the evening that she was just being dramatic.

Lavender looked up at him, her brows furrowing as she poked him in the side. "We!" One poke. "Talked!" Another poke. "About!" Third times the charm. "This!" A fourth and final poke impacted his frame before she settled her head back onto his shoulder.

It took a moment for Harry to wrack his brains to even have a clue as to what Lav was talking about, and then, it hit him. "Oh my god, you're talking about Cedric bloody Diggory, aren't you?"

"Maaaaybe…"

"Lav," Harry began, sighing as he rubbed his eyes. He was not drunk enough for this. "You do realize he's not actually your boyfriend because you think he's hot, right?" The love and affection he felt towards Lavender Brown was genuine, but Harry had a very simple rule when it came to dealing with drunk people… he needed to be drunk as well, otherwise, it was just tiresome.

"Well, duhhh," Lavender responded sullenly. "But he could have been…"

"Still could be," Harry countered, mentally debating if it was worth it to order another drink – hell, shots would suffice.

"Nuh uhhhh, he left with that cute girl, Cho. They're going to go back to his room, have great sex, and that's me out of the running…" Lavender sat up and looked at Harry with her big doe eyes. "I wanted to have great sex with him…"

For the first time during this conversation, Harry could relate to the girl's woes. He'd wanted to have sex with Rae Lawson. Unfortunately, neither of them was going to get any action that night. "You could always jump his bones tomorrow." Cedric hadn't struck him as the type to bed multiple girls in the same week, but hey, he could be wrong. Regardless of what happened later in the week, Harry offered a mental salute to Cedric for leaving with Cho Chang on his arm that evening; Lav hadn't been exaggerating, the black-haired girl was seriously cute.

"That does not~ help me tonight, Harryyy!" The drunk girl once again punctuated her sentence by poking him in the side. It didn't hurt at all, but on principle, Harry was about to start poking her back.

Honestly, it was probably for the best that Lavender didn't have anyone to sleep with tonight. Even though he was well aware of her proclivity for casual sex, she was drunk enough that he'd be an absolute piece of shit friend if he let her walk off with someone. If she'd already been drinking and flirting with a single guy from the night's onset, that'd be one thing, but at this point, she was far too gone to make a responsible decision. "You know what will help you?" Harry asked, adjusting his head so he could look down at her.

"Dick?"

That almost brought him up short, but he powered through admirably. "Sleep," he countered. "Think about it, your four-poster bed, thick blankets, more pillows than necessary. Sounds good, right?"

"But no dick?" It shouldn't have been possible to say those words in such a cute way, but with her big eyes and downright pouty lips, Lavender Brown found a way.

"Not tonight."

"My bed is really comfy…" Lavender murmured, now sitting upright and only swaying minutely.

"Atta' girl, let's get you back to it then." Harry leapt to his feet, having to steady himself on the bar. Maybe he'd had a tad more than he thought. "Oi! Weasley!" He shouted, waving his arms to get the attention of his financially focused friend.

Across the room, Ron was busy cashing in his chips for magical gold. 24 galleons was a sizable sum of money for most people, but from what Harry knew of the bloke's finances, it was more than Ron had ever held in his hands. "We leaving?" He called back, scooping the coins passed to him in a velvet bag that one of Draco's helping hands for the evening had so generously provided. With his money secured, he jogged over to them, nary a stutter in his step. Ron had enjoyed a few drinks, but unlike Harry and Lav, he'd kept himself in a decent state so as to win it all – a strategy that had proven fruitful in the end.

"Lav's plastered, and I'm about two…" Harry shook his head. "I'm about one good drink away from joining her." One drink was a quite lot for a lightweight like him.

Ron nodded, "time to get her back to the dorms then. C'mon Lav, let's go."

"Carry me?"

Harry snorted. "Don't you dare, Ron." Lav was spoiled enough already by them, she did not need to be carried all the way back to her bed. Besides, she wasn't quite that far gone – the functional part of her brain was just fucking with them.

"Nice try, Lav," Ron laughed, wagging his finger in the air, "but I have a little sister, I'm used to the games you women love to play."

"Ugh, fiiiine… it was worth a shot…" Lavender grumbled, already in motion towards one of the many exits from the large hall. "Byeeeee, Dracooo! Thanks for inviting us!" Her rather loud farewell attracted numerous pairs of eyes, some even more drunken than her own, but most importantly, her efforts succeeded in gaining the attention of their patrician host.

The normally poised and carefully controlled features of the Malfoy scion morphed into an amused smile as he raised his hand aloft and called back to them. "Glad you could make it, hope you all enjoyed yourselves." Whether the blonde teen was inebriated himself or if he was just playing to his audience, Harry wasn't sure, but he was impressed that the guy chose to mimic Lavender in her method of saying goodbye. Draco's propensity for neatness and composure put him on something akin to a pedestal on most days, but even if that was his preferred ground to stand upon, it was the little moments such as shouting a farewell across a crowded room that reminded the average person that he was still human. Given that Draco's goals for the evening were to curry friendship with a host of people, Harry would guess that it was all a carefully controlled act.

Fucking Slytherins, he thought to himself. The House of the cunning was enshrouded in so many lairs of falsehood and deception in the name of their internal power struggles, Harry could only guess how mentally exhausting each day might be. If he had been sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, he was certain he would've played the very same games that Draco and his cohorts were, but with hindsight, Harry was rather pleased with his placement with the crazy bastards of House Gryffindor. The average student wearing red and gold simply didn't give a rat's ass about what their housemates got up to. It had been expected, but the fact that almost no one even bothered to question why a couple of first-years were leaving the common room past curfew spoke to a level of disinterest that was almost hard to rival. Of course, he was generalizing, there were plenty of individuals who broke the classic mold while still being Gryffindors too a tee, but it was an undeniable that the majority of Gryff's were birds of a feather.

"Okaaaay, but that doesn't make any sense… like, at all – at all, at all!" Lavender had one arm raised aloft while the other draped around Ron's shoulders. Harry had tuned out from the initial part of the conversation, but it wasn't hard to guess that the inebriated girl was protesting one of the many hands in which Ron had beaten her. "Youuu," she waved her hand in his face, "had nothing… Nothing! And you raised, even though I'd raised twice. Two times. Two. Times. That, Ronald Weasley, does not make sense."

The redhead in question shrugged. "I knew you probably had trips, so all I had to do was bluff the flush. I let you hang yourself, really. Should've have been a bit more suspicious going into the final card."

"Please~, I'm nowhere NEAR good enough to beat youuu. I'm just say-AHH-" Lavender had made the mistake of trying to walk almost sideways without allowing her less than sober brain time to focus and subsequently tripped – only her firm grip latching onto Ron's neck preventing her from fully impacting the stone floor.

"You two good?" Harry asked, unable to fully hide the amusement that tinged his words, fully aware that he himself was one bad step away from joining her in the display of sure-footedness that served as a wonderful ode to the values of sobriety.

"I'm good! I'm good!" Lav responded, overriding Ron's contrary assertion as she released the vice-grip she had on him and adjusting her shirt before continuing her sentence like nothing had happened. "Anywho, all I'm saying is that there was noooo way for you to rationalize that RAISING – not calling – RAISING was smart. I do not believe you at all."

Ron, having recovered from the attempt on his life, laughed almost as loudly as Lav's passionate denouncement of strategy. "Poker isn't always about who's smart. Half the game is bloody intuition that comes from reading the players."

Lavender's face scrunched up. "That's reallyyyy similar to how Daddy conducts his business stuff whenever he meets with clients or partners."

"Blimey, you're serious?"

"Yep!" Lav chirped happily, the ends of her hair bouncing in concert with her excited little movements. "Told me himself that was the most important part."

Harry could absolutely believe that the youngest Weasley male would have an aptitude for business given how adept he was simply reading people… but he also thought that such a skillset could be applied in numerous different fields and areas of study beyond banal enterprise. "That's a bloody useful talent to have, Ron. You could do a dozen different things with it, though. I mean, some aurors are decidedly more oriented towards investigation than others." Harry paused for dramatic effect. "Auror Ronald Weasley, future Head of the DMLE. A nice future awaits you."

Ron hummed noncommittally. "I mean, being an auror could be interesting, but once you reach the level of Head Auror or Head of the DMLE, it's more of a political position than anything else. You should hear some of the shite Dad says about it all. I mean, he's only the head of a Sub-Division and he still has to deal with a lot of it."

The trio continued their conversation as they slowly made their way back through the ancient halls and corridors. Whether by circumstance or design, they didn't come across anyone else during the journey. Harry had half expected to run into another Prefect standing guard, but given the hour, it made sense that most of them had returned to their own dormitories for the evening. The idea of being a prefect once he reached his fifth year was an intriguing one in his mind. They were carefully selected by the teachers, but the encounter from a few hours prior demonstrated quite clearly that they weren't all teacher's pets who refused to step a toe out of line. The competition to become one was quite intense, though. From what he'd gathered, it was a title that looked very good on employment and apprenticeship résumés.

The hour was quite late by the time the trio reached the dorms; late enough that it was beginning to be more appropriate to say that it was early. Still, Harry didn't feel tired at all. The alcohol in his system was present but fading, however, the evening itself had been electric. Physically, he was exhausted, but mentally, he could not have sunk into slumber even if he tried.

"Manus Aureae," Ron declared to the sleeping portrait of the Fat Lady. Why portraits needed to sleep was beyond his understanding, but the vast majority of them did so.

The portrait of the Fat Lady groggily peered one eye open, yawning dramatically. "Who is this time? You lot have been trickling in and out all night without reprieve. How is a girl supposed to get her beauty sleep if you all keep waking me up?"

"Sorryyy…" Lav said, somewhat abashedly. "There was this party that we got invited to, soooo…"

The Fat Lady smiled down at them, rubbing her eyes. "It's quite alright, dearie, if I wasn't prepared to help out with students breaking curfew, I wouldn't have agreed to be the Gryffindor portrait. In you go, go on."

The portrait swung open allowing the trio entry into their common room, their whispered thanks trailing them as they passed through. "She's an awesome portrait," Lav said, yawning widely herself.

"Agreed," Harry murmured, casting a glance around the first floor of the common room. It was fairly quiet by this hour, in fact, everyone he spotted was dozing comfortably, though he could hear pockets of conversation coming from above. Unfortunately for him, his perceptive skills were proven to be rather poor not a moment later.

"And just where have you all been all night?!" Of all the people Harry had been expecting to greet them, it had not been Hermione Granger dressed like she's ready for bed, sitting in a high-backed chair with her legs crossed and a cup of tea in hand.

"Bloody hell, Granger!" Ron recoiled. "Why're you still awake?"

"Why am I still awake?" Hermione repeated the question imperiously. "I should be the one asking you that! Better yet, I should be asking why in the world you three were out of the dormitories until past four?"

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Morgana's tits, Granger, why do you care~?" She dragged out the final word and started walking away without waiting for an answer. "You wouldn't be so annoying if you didn't pull shit like this!"

"I'm trying to stop you all from getting into trouble!" Hermione's affronted reply trailed after the blonde.

"Well, I never asked you to! Merlin, it's like you're being possessed the by the bitchy spirit of my mum." Lavender started ascending the stairs to her dormitory. "Night Harry, night Ron, see you two tomorrow!" It was almost impressive how tonally different her words were depending on who she addressed.

"Lavender!" Hermione stamped a foot in frustration. "Why won't she listen?!"

"Why the hell should she?" Harry asked, also somewhat annoyed that one of his housemates thought herself in a position to lecture any of them. He claimed an empty seat and fell into it. "You're not in charge, Granger, get that through your head already. Goddamn, you need to let loose again like you did the first night of term, you were much more fun then."

Hermione huffed. "This is not about me!"

"The hell it's not…" Ron muttered, but the brunette ignored him.

"Do you all not care that your records here have a direct impact on your futures?!"

"Oh my god, Hermione, no one gives a flying fuck if a couple of teenagers break curfew!" Harry was officially sick of her grandstanding.

"Yes, they do!" She countered, throwing her arms up in the air. "I've talked to McGonagall about careers in the magical world! Do you know how much of what you can qualify for is based off our time at Hogwarts? How much of that is based on letters of recommendation from teachers and staff rather than just grades? Do you think McGonagall is going to write you a personal letter when you spent seven years making her life difficult?"

Ron groaned loudly. "Granger, McGonagall has been the head of the House since before we were born. Do you really think she's going to hold our futures hostage because we broke curfew? Besides, we weren't even bloody caught!"

"But you could have been!"

"And I could trip on the stairs and break my neck tomorrow," Harry said, rising to his feet. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to use the damn stairs."

"That is not the same argument, and you know it, Harry." Hermione's persistence was a sight to see, but he was done entertaining it.

"Ask me if I give a fuck," Harry stuck his cigarette into his mouth. "I don't even know why I'm debating you. Your opinions could not possibly be of any less value to me."

The acerbic comment made her recoil slightly. "You don't have to be so mean…" She shrunk into herself. "It's not like I went and told a teacher, I just want you all to think before you get yourselves into trouble over something that doesn't matter…"

"Congrats on not being a snitch," Harry snarked. "Gold star, really. Bare fucking minimum accomplished."

"I told you he wouldn't want to listen to what you had to say," the voice of Daniel cut into their conversation with ease as he and Neville emerged from the upper floors. "Should have just let him be."

"Thank you, Daniel!" The words his twin shared may have sounded callous on the surface, but Harry genuinely appreciated his brother for realizing that he absolutely hated when people tried to tell him what to do or how to behave. Hermione may have been operating out of concern, but he didn't care in the slightest. She should have just stayed in her lane and left him alone. "Where were you, anyway?"

"Waiting just upstairs for you to get back," Daniel replied.

"I take it Miss Wannabe Junior Prefect here already gave you the third degree?" Harry asked his brother, ignoring the sounds of outrage his title prompted.

"We talked, yeah."

"And you agreed with me!" Hermione responded indignantly.

Daniel shook his head. "Not true, I said I understood where you were coming from, there's a difference."

Neville chose that moment to interject himself as well. "A game of semantics doesn't solve anything. At the end of the day, Hermione, you can believe whatever you want, just as I do, but as long as it's not hurting you, people can behave and act however they wish."

"What if he was destroying his body through dangerous drugs?" Hermione countered. "If you care about someone, as their friend, you shouldn't stand by and allow them to engage in self-destructive behavior!"

"Holy fuck. You did not just compare breaking a few school rules to a fucking heroin addiction…" Harry was officially done engaging with her and the asinine metaphors.

"It was a hyperbole to prove my point," the frustrated girl explained. "I'm not saying you all can't do as you wish, I just want you to think about your lives after Hogwarts and ask yourself if breaking the odd rule or two is potentially worth your futures…"

"I am so fucking over this conversation," Harry didn't wait before marching back towards the exit of the common room, Ron's footfalls trailing after him, the two friends in concert with one another.

"You two are leaving again?" Hermione's cry of surprise was like music to his ears.

"Obviously," Harry drawled, trying his best to emulate the bored and condescending inflection of a particular Slytherin.

"And rather than returning to your dorms, you're leaving just to spite Hermione, aren't you?" Neville couldn't have sounded more resigned if he tried.

"You're goddamn right I am." Harry didn't care how 'self-destructive' he was behaving. He was annoyed, and that meant he was going to be petty. "If she wants to try and give me a fucking lecture, I'm going to let her see the results. Congratulations, Hermione, your efforts have had the exact opposite effect!"

"Oh my god! You're unbelievable!" Hermione's propensity for everything that was 'Harry' had apparently been reached as she stormed out of the room right behind him, a sighing Neville and Daniel following after her.

Harry ignored the surprised noises from the Fat Lady and kept walking into the moonlit corridors. "Oh, I'm the unbelievable one? You've been on our case since the moment we stepped through the bloody portrait." The cigarette in his lips was lit a moment later.

"Well, I'm sorry that my concern was such an affront to you! I'm sorry that it was past four in the morning, and I was worried something may have happened to you!" The girl could not have sounded more sarcastic if she tried.

On an intellectual level, Harry was well aware that Hermione really was acting with decent intentions in mind, but he simply didn't care. It was presumptuous of her to think she needed to act on behalf of other people, and even if her heart was in the right place, no one had asked her to act like a self-righteous goody-two-shoes.

"That apology doesn't sound too genuine to me…" Ron murmured

"Agreed," Harry said. "Apology not accepted, now bugger off already."

Hermione's offended squawk of protest mixed in with Daniel's and Neville's calls to not be mean. Harry dutifully ignored them all, but that did not deter Hermione from continuing her tirade. "All I'm trying to do is help, and all you can do is act like a complete arse!"

"I don't think it's an act…"

"Not even remotely helpful, Nev," Daniel sighed. "Harry, Hermione, can both of you just drop it so we can go back to the dorms?"

Harry scoffed, rounding another corner without care or concern for where he was going. "I'm sorry, did I ask you all to follow me? Last I checked, Miss Prim and Perfect and the stick that she keeps up her ass came of her own damn accord."

"Oh, don't mind me at all," Hermione's sarcasm was rising in proportion with her anger, apparently. "I'm only following you to ensure you don't get yourself expelled, or even worse, killed! Apparently, you have no idea how to do that without my help!"

"I think I'm doing just fine, actually, and I haven't needed you to hold my fucking hand once."

It was Hermione's turn to scoff. "Oh, please, you both got detention for two weeks during the second week of term because you couldn't follow even the most basic of instructions. And this is after the train ride here, where you almost fell off the roof because you just assumed there were wards to prevent your moronic selves from falling! Or you, Ron when I stopped you from adding Mugwort into a potion meant to alleviate boils!"

"Nothing would've happened…"

"It could have exploded!"

Harry came up short at the basic recounting of incidents in which he and Ron really hadn't exhibited the soundest judgement. Not that he was about to admit to such a thing out loud. "Why do you even bloody care if we get ourselves hurt or expelled? Just let it happen, save yourself some stress and save us a goddamn lecture from an annoying harpy!"

"Why do I care? I usually try and care about my friends' wellbeing but forgive me if I was mistaken and we were never friends at all!" She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

Hermione Granger was morally uptight know-it-all, a self-righteous stick in the mud, and all around difficult to deal with person… but damn it all, she didn't deserve to be brought to tears because a couple of inebriated ass-holes mouthed off at her because she over-stepped. One glance toward Ron revealed that he thought the same. Hermione had been lecturing them both, but Harry was the only one responding with any real causticity. The redhead hadn't been kidding when he previously explained how familiar he was with being lectured thanks to his mum. Molly Weasley was apparently a force unto herself, though, after raising seven children, that was probably to be expected.

"Fucking hell, Granger, we are friends, okay?" Harry ran a hand through his hair as he turned to face the angry and clearly hurt young woman. "I'm sorry for insulting you and being 'mean,' all right?" He knew his apology sounded hollow at that moment, but it was true all the same. Hermione's lack of immediate response prompted him to continue. "You don't deserve to have me bite your head off because you were concerned…"

"Then-" Hermione began to speak, but she was cut off before she could finish two words.

"However!" Harry continued, pointing his cigarette in her direction. "That does not fucking mean I'm about to listen to you and your suggestions for how I can live my goddamn life!" There wasn't a single person on Earth who he would tolerate telling him what to do with his existence.

"So, you're going to keep breaking rules and putting yourself at risk for no other reason than its fun for you?"

Harry took an extra-long drag before he replied. "Right in one." Was it immature of him? Maybe. Did he care? Not at all.

"You're unbelievable," Hermione remarked, pinching the bridge of her nose. "But I'm sorry too… there were a million other ways I could've confronted you all without raising my voice when it was past four o'clock in the morning."

"That is a way more amicable conclusion than I was expecting," Daniel murmured into the silence that had begun to take hold.

"I just didn't want to see her start crying, I'd feel bad if that happened," Harry countered, pausing to cough. "I still think she can be bloody annoying. Honestly, how do you know how to say the most innocuous words in the most obnoxious way?"

Try as she might, Hermione couldn't hide the smile that formed on her lips. "Well, I still think you're the most uncouth halfwit in our year. I know you have a brain, but honestly, how do you manage to go through life without using it?"

"You two are acting like a pair of siblings, you know?" Ron joined in the conversation from his place against the wall. "The bickering, the insults, it's just like me and Gin."

"Please, any sister of mine would be way less boring."

"And any brother of mine would have far more dignity."

"Yep, just like me and Gin."

"What a nice… happy… conclusion you've all elected to reach!" The voice that echoed out from the darkness brought a chill to his spine. It was barely a whisper yet still clearly audible to all. "Dear students, out of bed, but do not fear, do not fear… for Peeves would never peach…"

Peeves… The name accompanied visions of a throat torn asunder, phantom blood spilling from the slice. Of all the things that he'd already encountered at Hogwarts, Peeves the Poltergeist was undeniably the most disturbing.

"Show yourself, Peeves!" Neville was the first to speak, raising his voice as he called to the shadows.

"Show myself? Show~ myself? The little Gryffindor wishes to see me? Silly little lion, I'm already here, together we can have a party! You just have to use the eyes in your head. Find me quickly, little lion… we wouldn't want you to end up… dead."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. There was no way Hogwarts would permit such a malevolent being to walk its halls unimpeded, he knew that, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose all the same, the rhythmic pounding of his heart increased in speed. He was afraid. "You aren't allowed to hurt students!" The words sounded from his lips before he knew they were his.

"Students out past curfew? Students out of bed? Oh dear, oh dear, I wonder, how many a tear will be shed?" The jester's disembodied voice taunted them from every angle all at once.

"We should leave," Daniel murmured, gesturing back the way they came. "I don't think Peeves can actually hurt us, but we shouldn't take that chance…"

"Surely Mr. Filch or one of the teachers will find us if we yell, right?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide as she glanced around them.

"There are no teachers on patrol tonight," Ron replied, licking his lips nervously. "And Filch… bloody hell, Filch was drugged asleep…"

"HE WHAT?!" Hermione did not react to that information well.

"Now's really not the time, Hermione," Harry said, wand held aloft. He doubted any spell in his repertoire would be of any use against a goddamn Poltergeist, but something was better than nothing.

"Oh, oh, oh, they put the Caretaker to bed, oh what does that mean? Naïve little students, that's right where the Caretaker wishes to be! Walk the halls he does, each and every night! Walk the halls he does, none aware of his fight!"

The words of the jester may as well have been gibberish for all the meaning they held to Harry. He had no doubt they were far from nonsensical, but the bloody jester obfuscated the purpose behind the words in riddles and rhymes. One experience, and suddenly he understood why everyone hated the Poltergeist.

"What's he talking about?" Daniel asked. "Peeves? What do mean, 'his fight?' Peeves!"

"Save it, Daniel, you're not going to get an answer from this cunt…" Ron looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him.

"Ron? Your brothers share stories about Peeves?" Neville must have noticed the redhead's intensity too.

"Yeah… they shared a few," Ron's voice was like steel. "Bastard clown may not harm students physically, but he can bloody well fuck with your head to the point where you may end up in a Healer's care… Fred and George of all people warned me about him."

The mad cackle of the ghastly jester suddenly resounded from right behind them. From the shadows, he emerged. In the daylight, Peeves was simply odd. Whimsically dressed and speaking in rhymes, the poltergeist went about his business sowing chaos without care or consideration for whom he involved. Plenty of people found him unnerving, especially when he spoke of matters he should have no knowledge of… but as the five friends were figuring out, at night, his aura changed. The playful glint in his eye that teased and taunted had become crazed and demented. The smile he always wore, playful and conniving, had turned wicked and sinister. The bells that once rung with sounds of merry sounded cold and ominous. "No one to stop me… no one to intervene. Silly students, silly students indeed..." The high-pitched tenor of his voice suddenly fell. "You never should have broken poor Peeves' routine…"

"Run…" Harry wasn't sure who said the word, but the impact was immediate as all five teens broke into a sprint away from the maniacal form of the spectral jester. Terror was all he felt at that moment. Why? That question wasn't one he was certain he could answer, but it was undeniable, he was scared. At that moment, the fucking jester terrified him more than anything he'd encountered in his life. Unbidden, the image of Tom sitting across from him without a smile on his face forced Harry to amend his mental designation. Peeves scared him almost more than anything he'd encountered in his life.

"RUN LITTLE STUDENTS! RUN FAR AWAY! IT'S NOT A FUN GAME IF YOU DO NOT PLAY!"

Peeves' shout reverberated around inside their heads, the magically formulated sounds proof of Ron's warning as Harry stumbled into the stone wall, his hands uselessly clapped over his ears. There was nothing physical about invading one's mind, hell, he'd bet there wouldn't be any permanent damage either… but as the volume mounted, he wished for nothing more than it just to stop. The whisper that was a shout in his mind was invasive, every word an irritable itch that he could not scratch, a fragment of pain that failed to hurt but would not go away.

"I'M GOING TO GET YOU! I'M GOING TO WIN! I'M GOING TO GET YOU AND PEEL OFF YOUR SKIN!"

With a roar of frustration laced with a healthy dose of panic, Harry pushed himself off the wall, furtively ignoring the feeling of Peeves' touch upon his fingers and bent down to hoist Neville to his feet. Next to him, Daniel did the same for Hermione. "Come on, get up! We've got to either lose him or keep going until he gets bored!"

"That's the key! He gets bored easily, just keep running!" Ron confirmed, taking the lead as he sprinted away.

On and on the quintet ran, the macabre voice of the poltergeist invading their thoughts with each passing step. Every reflection Harry looked in to, Peeves glowing red eyes glared wickedly back at him, forcing the black-haired teen to leap away in fright. That omnipresent, malicious smile that decorated his twisted face nothing but a cruel mockery of the joy and humor that jesters were supposed to elicit. Hermione shrieked of fingers on her spine that writhed and wriggled like snakes, while Ron roared about spiders that crawled in his hair. Daniel wouldn't stop asking who was screaming, but Harry heard no one but themselves.

"RUN, RUN AWAY, STUDENTS, YOU BETTER FLEE FAST! BUT PEEVES HAS TO WONDER… HOW LONG CAN YOU LAST?"

The sick fuck enjoyed the chase. Peeves the Poltergeist clearly knew exactly how far he could push the boundaries of the torment he wrought unto unsuspecting students. Fear and psychological trauma must have been perfectly within his purview because he wielded it with extraordinary finesse that could only be gained through experience. Even knowing the rough limitations and framework in which Peeves was allowed to operate, his sheer presence was nothing short of terrifying. The effects were magical, of course, there was no way magic wasn't constantly seeping into them and twisting their perception … but that awareness did absolutely nothing to stop the torrent of fear that threatened to consume him completely.

"Turn right up here!" Daniel's voice called out; the sense of urgency not hidden at all by his labored breathing.

"What's to the right up there?" Hermione asked frantically.

Harry knew… how could he not when he'd spent so much time debating on whether or not he should enter. "The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side…" His words were more ominous than he had intended.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WHERE WILL YOU HIDE? WHAT DOOR ARE YOU SEEKING? WHAT HAVE YOU EYED? IT DOES NOT MATTER, FOR WHEREEVER YOU GO, PEEVES WILL STILL FOLLOW YOU – THIS! THIS, I KNOW!"

"FUCK OFF!" Ron roared, still leading the five Gryffindors with his lengthy strides. "Dumbledore had better have been lying!" With that final comment, spoken aloud to the world as if it were a prayer, he leapt up the stairs two at a time, putting distance between himself and the others. With a heavy grunt of exertion, he pushed on the door. "It's locked?! Are you bloody serious?!"

"Let me!" Harry shouldered his way past his friends. "Alohomora," he intoned the spell as he tapped the tip of his ebony wand against the iron keyhole. In an instant, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. "Inside! Now!"

"NOOOOOOO! FOOLISH STUDENTS! WHY MUST YOU ENTER THERE? PEEVES CANNOT JOURNEY INTO THE PROTECTED LAIR!" Harry didn't even have time to ponder the poltergeist's words before a shadow passed over the ajar doorframe behind them. Peeves, visible in his corporeal form, was floating just above the ground, a strangely somber smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Escaped you have, from poor little Peeves… joyous students, with your thoughts and your dreams. Enjoy yourselves, in the abandoned halls… but be mindful of shadows lest they wriggle and crawl."

The pervasive aura of fear had seemingly faded… the question of 'why', however, was potentially a much more frightening conclusion. Unaware of the thoughts running through his brother's head, Daniel snarled at the translucent jester, waving his arm angrily. "Oh, now you want to be helpful? Shove it up your ass, you sick bastard!"

Peeves chortled, the bells on his feet jingling as he danced in the air. "Peeves is always helpful, we were having fun – before the game had started, Peeves told you to run…"

"I cannot believe Hogwarts would let something like you roam freely! I will be telling a professor about this! I refuse to believe you're permitted to terrorize students!" In the midst of her righteous anger, Hermione apparently forgot that the only reason they encountered the fucked-up poltergeist was because they broke the rules and left the common room after hours.

"Curfew is curfew, a rule is a rule… Peeves always listens to those set by the school."

Harry sighed, loath as he was to admit it, the ass-hole had a point. "There's no way the school doesn't know about Peeves, Hermione. If you tell someone, all you'll do is get yourself in trouble."

"Right in one, right in two, there's no one to tell and nothing to do!" Peeves may have bemoaned their escaping him… but it was obvious the strange non-being enjoyed Hermione's dilemma. "Farewell, now, students, enjoy your trip inside… try not to join the list of all those who've tragically died." Peeves' demented cackle was the last sound they heard before the door slammed shut, leaving the five Gryffindors shrouded in darkness.

OoooOoooO

"The hour grows late."

"Is that your way of telling me to leave?"

"It was meant to insinuate that I will soon be telling you to leave."

"And here I thought you remembered my insistence on social niceties."

"My choice to forsake them was deliberate."

"Which means you remembered it in the first place. How sweet. You really are quite fond of me, aren't you? I should remind you that I am a married woman. I could never reciprocate your feelings."

"Your words ring hollow given that you're currently in another man's bed."

"What can I say? A woman has her needs… I suppose I should thank you for satisfying them."

"Do not waste your breath. I do not thirst for your words of affirmation as others are wont to."

"Oh? Such confidence! Wherever do you get it from?"

"Your actions speak far more than your lips ever could. You would not continue to seek out my company were it not superior to that which you could find elsewhere."

"Maybe I just enjoy the familiarity. We've been meeting like this ever since our final year at Hogwarts…"

"The clandestine nature has remained the same."

"Does that upset you?"

"On the contrary, it is to my preference."

"Mine as well… but I can't deny that I quite enjoy our trysts. They take me back to the days before I was married and a mother. A fantasy of days since passed…"

"Spare me your faux tongue."

"How cruel! A vulnerable woman is spilling her heart to you, and you respond with such vitriol?"

"I am who I am… and I know you prefer me this way to any sort of feigned kindness."

"I don't recall ever saying as much. How can you be so sure that your perception of me is accurate?"

"Over twenty years of familiarity has led to a number of insights into your personality… I would be a fool to not see through the façade you portray to the rest of the world."

"Are you a fool?"

"No, I'm not."

"I suppose I'm an open book then. My secrets laid bare as my naked flesh?"

"The masks you don to peddle falsehoods and sow deceit are still effective, even against me, but I've seen the real you on enough occasions to discern when you're being honest."

"And what of right now? Am I being honest at this moment?"

"Only in your lust."

"An impressive observation…"

"If I recall, I said before that the hour was growing late."

"You did…"

"And still you're continuing?"

"I am…"

"Your husband will miss your presence."

"We both know he does not care… Besides, this is your fault for getting me in the mood again… Take responsibility."

"I denigrate the lies you cloak yourself in and it only serves as an aphrodisiac…"

"I won't apologize for who I am. Will you?"

"Never."

"Good, now fuck me."

OoooOoooO

Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out…

The words were a mantra. A technique to slow down, stop, and think. To allow the mind a moment's reprieve before calmly assessing the world as it was, not as he wished it to be. The ability to think rationally before acting was the first thing Draco could remember his father teaching him. He was only five when the lesson was first imparted. Lucius Malfoy had been a dutiful father, but not a warm one. The man was kind, but before he saw his son, he saw his legacy. Before him, Abraxas Malfoy had been the same way, and his father before him. Each successive generation worked to secure the dynasty of the next. Lucius spared his son no pity, but nor did he offer any cruelty. Draco had long since accepted his family for what it was… to be honest, he valued it. Love was an abstract concept that meant a dozen different things to a dozen different people, but if asked, he would say he loved his family.

Most people would not understand why he harbored such feelings. His father was stern and distant, the type of man who many would assume inspired no joy… but Draco saw the glint of pride that shined in his eyes when their gazes met. Draco heard the words of whispered approval when he successfully learned one of his father's lessons. The long hours his father poured into his work was for their House, but it was also for Draco. The rest of the world need not understand the intricacies of their bond, he knew it was firm with or without the approval of plebians.

The dedication his father had for the Malfoy name was something Draco had internalized the moment he truly understood it. Their name was to be respected. Above all else, the Malfoy legacy must endure. Nothing else was more paramount than that fact. Before they were Malfoys, before they adopted the moniker the people naively assigned them, they were Montmorency, one of the oldest and most prominent families in the region of France from before France even existed. Others could lay claim to lineages that dated back further, but in the modern day and age, none stood higher than the Malfoys.

With his wits gathered, Draco stepped into the Slytherin common room with a self-assured purpose that he was confident none his age would be able to match. The structure of the Slytherin common room was magnificent. From the moment one stepped through the door, they were confronted with a semi-cylindrical balcony that allowed one to gaze down eight stories into the heart of the common room – a large, open, area with dozens of tables of various sizes, leather sofas and armrests, and black marble hearths aglow with green fire. The dark-stone walls were lined with tapestries and art-work, each portraying the majesty of Slytherin House. Each floor had a balcony that mirrored the one on top, each with its own fair share of furniture and places to rest. Each floor was dedicated to one year, with hallways branching back away from the balconies that led to the dorms themselves. The top floor belonged to the first years, with the floor directly above the common room belonging to the seventh years. There were stairwells that connected the floors, but when they were able, most students elected to ride the large, black slab of black stone that magically floated up and down between the floors. Only about twenty students could comfortably stand on the magical stone at a time, which normally wasn't an issue… however, at the start of each term, when students poured in from the feast and it was impossible for everyone to ride, it was a sign of one's status in the House whether or not they were forced to walk. By far the most impressive aspect of the common room was the wall of glass that stood from floor to ceiling opposite of the balconies. Whereas other Houses overlooked the castle or the grounds, Slytherins were granted the privilege to gaze out into the majestic waters of the Black Lake.

Each of the four common rooms had gained a nickname over the millennia they'd existed. The Gryffindors had the Lions' Den, the Hufflepuffs the Badgers' Nest, the Ravenclaws rested in the Eagles' Eyrie, while the Slytherins resided in the Snake Pit. Though his time at Hogwarts had so far been brief… Draco thought the name perfectly suited both the design and culture of the infamous House.

As befitted his year, Draco's room was on the uppermost floor. Another perk of being a Slytherin was that he did not have to share his living space with anyone else. Salazar Slytherin had valued his privacy too much to ever part from it, and thankfully, he believed those in his House would share similar traits. The mere thought of sharing a room with anyone, even his closest friends, was enough to turn Draco's stomach. How anyone could possibly stand not having total control of their bedchambers was a mystery to him. Built into the room itself was a series of enchantments that allowed students to set their own passphrase to unlock the otherwise normal, wooden door frames. Any other defensive measures that may be desired were up to the students to set themselves, but the facsimile of security was some measure of comfort to those who were not keen on the notion of all their belongings being available to anyone who happened to be walking by.

With purposeful strides, Draco allowed his feet to carry him towards Theo's room, the sharp rap of his heels upon the stone the only audible sound in his immediate vicinity. Given the lateness of the hour, it would be reasonable to assume that most of his fellow students were already asleep for the evening, but he knew his friend better than anyone. The notion that Theo had already sought relief from the waking world was laughable. For someone who hated almost every moment he spent awake, he had a propensity to avoid sleep wherever possible.

Draco did not know what to do with Theodore Nott. He'd always had a peculiar, macabre gloom that seemed to hang over him, but even through that, it was obvious that Theo had been happy… but ever since the death of his brother, the man was a shell of his former self. Even worse, he turned towards narcotics and substances to dull his pain and null his emotional turmoil. Draco would never forget the moment when he realized how little his friend cared about his own life.

The Malfoy and Nott families had been allies for long enough that Draco enjoyed a relative amount of freedom to be able to visit via floo so long as he sent advanced warning. What was to be a day in which he tried to cheer up his friend and get him back to a state of normalcy in the wake of tragedy was instead a horror story in of itself. The image of Theo laying upon the floor with his skin as pale as the moon and bulging, purple veins; his eyes, bloodshot and wide open but staring at nothing; and white foam streaked with red spilling from his lips was a sight that scared Draco more than he would ever admit.

Theo's survival from that incident was considered a miracle. No one else was home when Draco stopped by to visit. The house elves that the Nott family owned had been ordered by Theo to leave him be until he requested them once more. Had Draco not found his friend and summoned the house elves for aid, Theo would have never made it to St. Mungos, he would have died on his bedroom floor. Officially, it was labeled an irresponsible accident on Theo's end due to him experimenting with potions beyond his capabilities to brew. Technically true, but the complete and utter apathy Theo expressed after the fact clued Draco into the reality of the situation. The 15-year-old boy truly had not cared whether he lived or died. Lillian Nott, Theo's younger sister, was the only other person to really see how far-gone her older brother was. Only a few weeks after the incident she practically begged Draco to help her keep an eye on her only living sibling. The promise he made that day was one he intended to keep no matter the cost.

The password to enter Theo's room exited his tongue as a whisper the moment his fingers rested upon the handle. An Arabic phrase, when translated to English meant 'whatever is forbidden is desired.' Draco did not know a single word beyond that phrase, and he had no clue why Theo had selected it as a password, but once it was shared with him, he made sure to commit it to memory. Though, even if he had forgotten the exact words, it would not have mattered as the door was unlocked. That was just like Theo. Unless he was out of his room, he held neither care nor consideration for who entered.

The unmistakable sounds of sensual moans, grunts, and flesh pounding upon flesh and the pervasive scent of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and sex greeted Draco's senses the moment the door swung open. Naked as the day they were born, Theo had his female companion for the evening, a second-year Hufflepuff girl if he was not mistaken, bent over the bed, one hand reached around to aggressively grip at her breasts while she moaned around the fingers he'd stuck into her mouth. Regrettably, this was not the first time Draco had seen his friend in an inappropriate state of dress.

Theo had a distinct lack of shame when it came to almost anything, but it was most noticeable to others in regard to nudity. Even compared to most British wizards and witches who enjoyed their secular society, Theo was that much more apathetic about others seeing him in a state of undress. He often claimed it was a result of his mother being German and her cultural influence upon him, an explanation that did make sense in a vacuum, however, given that Draco had never accidentally seen Katrin Nott nude, he was more inclined to believe it was a trait specific to Theo rather than a genetic disposition. Given this lack of shame, it was no surprise that Theo barely acknowledged Draco's presence with a sideways glance before continuing with his pleasurable activity, his grunts and groans never ceasing. The Hufflepuff girl, Draco could not recall her name off the top of his head, had a reaction to his presence that was a bit more surprising as her face flushed that much more, and her erotic noises increased in volume. If the position the duo was in was any sort of indicator, it perhaps shouldn't have come as a surprise that she would get off to an audience, but still, the sexual deviancy on display forced a brief moment's pause from the normally unflappable teen.

"Theo," Draco said plainly. "When you're finished and if you're still sober, come find me, I have some things I'd like to discuss."

A murmured and breathy response from Theo mixed in with the sounds of the girl's ecstasy as Draco vacated the room without delay. While no stranger to sex himself, his desire to see his best friend continually engage in the act was completely nonexistent. Unfortunately for him, his memory was impeccable, so he was going to have to live with the fact that he now knew what his best friend looked and sounded like while fucking. Wonderful, Draco mused, pinching the bridge of his nose as he allowed his feet to carry him back towards his own room.

Ultimately, Theo's reliance upon muggle cigarettes, alcohol, and sex was vastly preferable to the magical drugs he previously elected to consume. Substance abuse was destructive no matter what form it came in, but there was more of an immediate danger to consuming potions or magical ingredients with the express purpose of getting high. Their effects were… less consistent than alcohol, less reliable. Combine that with Theo's talents at mixing his own and they became downright dangerous. Theo was a borderline genius when it came to brewing potions, but it wasn't out of fondness for the subject, merely experience. It had been almost two years since his brother's passing, and he'd spent much of that time absorbed in the need to drown out his own sorrows. Draco was just thankful that Theo was receptive to the rather harsh conversation they'd had the night they arrived at Hogwarts… reminding Theo of a reason to stay alive and in control of his own thoughts hadn't been that difficult, but it hadn't exactly been healthy either… all it took was reminding him that if he was dead, he wouldn't be able to murder his own father.

That was a bridge that Draco had already accepted he was going to have to cross someday. The desire for revenge was the only thing that drove Theo to keep on living. Everything else was simply a distraction from his own thoughts until that fateful day arrived. Draco knew that Hayward Nott was guilty of murdering his oldest son, Alexander. From what Theo had described, it hadn't been entirely intentional, but Hayward's drunken rage and final spell to send his wandless son careening over a balcony could not be dismissed as an accident either. The two men had hated each other for years. Alexander wasn't a perfect individual, but he wasn't his father, and he wasn't afraid of making that fact known. Hayward, however, had his pride, and confrontations between them weren't uncommon. The relationship between father and son was always doomed to end in a dramatic fashion, but no one could have predicted such a quick, violent end.

Theo had adored Alexander. The two were as close as brothers could be, even with the sizable age difference. The moment he had died, he took a part of Theo with him. In the wake of his death, after Theo had been forced to look upon his idol's cooling corpse and hear his killer spread words of falsehood and cast aspersions upon his mental health and acuity… a part of Theo broke, and Draco knew it would never be fixed.

Someday, Hayward Nott would die by his son's hands… that was practically a foregone conclusion. Draco's goal was to ensure that Theodore Nott didn't die in the process.

The self-appointed goal was one he hadn't shared with anybody, not his father, mother, or even Theo himself. The only one who could even begin to guess the lengths Draco would go to for his best friend, his brother in all but name, was Lillian Nott. The tear-stricken girl had begged him to help keep her brother safe and Draco had sworn that he would do so. Lillian Nott could have never approached him for aid at all and he still would have gone to the ends of the earth to see Theo kept safe… but in the wake of her pleas, he decided there was nothing he would not do on behalf of his friend's life… Nothing. There was no magic involved in his oath, no Unbreakable Vow, not even something as simple as him staking his family name upon his word… there was nothing but a simple promise between a girl who loved her brother and a boy who loved his friend.

With thoughts of a dreaded future running through his mind, Draco entered his own room with a sigh as he removed his peacoat, turtleneck shirt, and shoes, carefully placing each of them in their appropriate locations, a coat-rack, dirty clothes bin, and closet, respectfully. After a long day of preparations followed by a long night of playing host, he was just glad to finally be back in a place of relative safety and privacy at last. The image he put on display for others was not a lie, but it was more polished and more refined than what he generally wore in the sanctity of his own room, a space that was entirely his own. The satin sleepwear he decided to don following a quick shower was just a reflection of that. The buttons on his shirt were only fastened halfway up; his hair, while not dripping, was noticeably damp; and his bare feet slapped against the carpeted stone floor. At that moment, he was still very much Draco Malfoy, with all the poise and confidence one would expect from that name, he was simply more casual and less guarded.

By and large, the evening had been a great success. There were certain bumps in the road that he wished he could've done away with, such as his spat with Potter and Longbottom, the emotional imbeciles… but there was also Peeves' terrorization of Marietta Edgecombe on her way to the event that he wished would have not occurred. Despite Draco's best efforts to the contrary, the annoying poltergeist had decided to indeed make himself known as a problem. As for Edgecombe, the idiotic girl had naively chosen to blame Draco for her troubles, never-mind that it was one of the prefects he'd arranged to have stationed throughout the corridors that rescued the girl from the poltergeist's attention. The loss of her friendship was rather irksome as he had hoped to establish friendly connections with all his attendees... Her mother was a rising name within the Department of Magical Transportation, expected to be the next Chairwoman of the Floo Regulation Committee, while her father was a published if not famous Master of Arithmancy. Edgecombe was by no means a household name in Britain, and he would survive the lack of her friendship without issue, but even still, he would've preferred to be able to count the girl as one of his associates. Instead, he's left with a bitter girl who, if her reputation is accurate, would not hesitate to spread rumors about him. Some preventative measures would have to be taken, perhaps in the form of his newfound friendship with Cho Chang, or perhaps he could rely on Pansy, she was rather adept at social manipulation… regardless, that was an issue to resolved after he got some sleep.

Life at Hogwarts was a tad different than what he was used to growing up. Every need he had was met, but unlike at home, the House Elves that served in the castle did not exist to serve his every order and command. He could not, for example, request food in the early hours of the day and expect it to show up – a pitcher of water, however, was always available no matter what the hour of day. Draco had quickly realized that if he was willing to make it himself, that it was well within his right to acquire tea leaves and blends, as well as the proper equipment to brew a pot so that he might enjoy his favorite pastime from the comfort of his own room.

Long before coming to Hogwarts, Draco had considered himself something of a connoisseur of the drink. The various types of teas from different regions around the world was not small in number, and though he rarely made it himself, he'd always been diligent about researching the proper temperatures each individual blend required, along with how long each should be allowed to steep, and even whether any sweeteners were recommended to help balance the flavor profile. Translating that knowledge into a physical habit had become as integral of an aspect to his habit almost as much as the act of consuming the vaunted liquid.

In no small part thanks to a magical kettle that allowed one to set the temperature its contents were to reach, Draco was putting the finishing touches on his tea of choice for the night despite the late hour, a Magnolia Bark blend, when he heard a knock at his door. Assuming it to be Theo, Draco did not waste any time in moving to the door. He had to fight the urge to let his eyes widen as it wasn't Theo on the other side of the door, but Rae Lawson. "Lawson," Draco greeted neutrally. The reason why she had chosen to visit at such an early hour was unknown to him, but a quick glance at the rather short pair of shorts she chose to wear combined with her lack of bra underneath her top spoke volumes about her intentions.

"Draco," she said, a smile springing to her lips. It looked real, but it had arrived too quickly to be natural. "Might I come in?"

There it is… Draco mused, unsurprised that the girl's first move was to get inside his chambers. Too obvious, Lawson. Without so much as a word Draco took a step back to allow room for the girl's entry. She made a show of offering her thanks with a small giggle and a glance off to the side, but once again, to him, it was too fucking obvious.

"Oh, did I interrupt you making tea?" Lawson asked, gesturing to the steaming pot and the mug he had set out.

"I had just finished," Draco replied, offering a hint of a smile that did not reach his eyes. He walked back over to grab a second mug, the two were part of a set of four, simple in design, but made of the finest quality porcelain. "Care for some?"

"I would love some, thank you." The perfect amount of inflection to convey thanks that seemed genuine and interest that seemed sincere. On another day and in another setting, he could have easily fallen for it.

Draco took his time preparing their drinks. Even though his attempts to peacefully settle down had been encroached upon, he would not do himself nor his admittedly unwanted guest the disservice of serving poor tea. It simply wasn't in his nature. "Careful, it's hot," he warned, placing a mug upon the table adjacent to the seat the girl had claimed on his bed.

Lawson gripped the handle with her perfectly manicured nails and held it up to her face. "It smells delicious. What's the flavor?"

"Magnolia Bark, an herbal blend." Oh, she really was good. The flushed smiles and slightly awkward small talk while they danced around why she'd knocked on his door at such an hour. Rae Lawson knew exactly what she was doing, she'd simply chosen the wrong target. Lucius Malfoy had taught his son everything he knew to prepare him for his future… and Narcissa Malfoy had done the same.

"I can't wait to try it."

"I hope it's to your liking…" Draco was done playing games. The night had gone on too long, his patience had worn too thin. "While you're enjoying it, why don't you tell me why you're here?"

"Umm," Lawson brushed her hair behind her ear, a nervous smile taking center stage as she slowly looked up to meet his gaze. "Is it… is it not obvious?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as his voice gained a distinctive edge. "That's the problem, Lawson, it's too obvious."

"W-what?" The young woman appeared genuinely taken aback but he was not fooled in the slightest.

"Shall I walk you through where your plan went wrong?" Draco asked pointedly, rising to his feet to loom over the seated girl. If it came to magic, she would be able to overpower him in an instant, but neither of them was reaching for their wands for a reason… this fight had absolutely nothing to do with magic. "Smart move to capitalize on my invitation for my party by coming to my room long after it was finished. If I had to guess, you had some sort of detection charm on the first-year's corridor – some manner of spell to alert you as to when I returned to my quarters. From then, it was just a matter of timing."

Lawson's girlish smile had fallen to the wayside as she watched him impassively. For the first time, Draco thought he had finally met the real Rae Lawson. A pleasure to meet you, Rae.

"You would come into my bed, probably fuck me until my heart's content, and then use my newfound infatuation with your body to secure yourself not only a better position within this House, but potentially even the future. You're too smart to think I'd ever marry a Half-Blood, but there are an infinite number of potential avenues in which the Malfoy name could help you outside of Hogwarts." Draco began to laugh mockingly; he knew he was right. With a smirk dancing on his lips, he spun the chair in front of his around and lowered himself down. A moment later, his tea was in his hand. "You probably thought it would be easy… you're an incredibly beautiful woman, after all, there isn't a single boy at this school, let alone a first-year, who wouldn't consider themselves downright lucky to have you in their bed, right?" He shook his head. "Under normal circumstances, even I would not have objected… but you underestimated your opponent."

"How?" It was the first word she'd spoken since he began his derisive tirade. Draco appreciated that it was effectively an admission of guilt; there was no point in her continuing her charade lest she insult him further.

"Everyone looks at me and thinks 'that's the son of Lucius Malfoy,'" Draco placed a fist over his heart proudly. "It's a badge of honor, but it's only half the picture. Far too few people remember that I'm also the son of Narcissa Malfoy née Black." Draco wouldn't deny that he took after his father far more than his mother, but the love and respect he had for her could not be understated. His mother may not have had titles or positions of authority that compared to her husband, but Draco was very well aware of how that was a deliberate choice on her part. A matter of desire, not ability. There wasn't a shred of doubt in his mind that if his mother desired titles or respect from the masses, then she would have it.

Lawson sighed heavily; a seemingly genuine sense of bitterness laced in the exhalation of air. "Fuck."

Draco nodded, a hint of smugness shining through. "'Fuck' is correct. She taught me how to see through facades exactly like the one you just wore. If I am being honest, your performance was executed almost perfectly. The little gestures you made that pulled my attention towards wherever your heart desired; the fake smiles and blushes you allowed me to catch a glimpse of before you turned away, feigning a demure persona; even your choice of attire, both modern and revealing without being immediately apparent that your primary interest was sex, and still covering up enough in order to stimulate my imagination… were I a less ignorant of the type of person you are, I would have undoubtedly fallen for your ploy without a second thought, and we'd already be in bed with me counting my good fortunes…" A predatory smirk came to his lips. "But I'm not so naïve."

Lawson kept her features blank, her tea finding its way back onto the table from whence he had placed it. "I suppose you're not… but this doesn't give you any hold over me."

"You don't think so?"

"The worst you could do is spread rumors about me… but that wouldn't be the first time someone accused me of whoring myself out." Lawson traced the slim shape of her body with one finger. "Most of the time it's been from other girls who are jealous, or foolish boys who think I'm a 'catch.' None of their efforts accomplished anything, and nor would yours if you try the same."

"We've already established I'm not like most of our Housemates, Lawson," Draco punctuated his verbal riposte with a sip of tea.

Lawson shrugged. "The court of public opinion doesn't know that. All they know is that you walk the part of being a good little boy for daddy. Malfoy is the name everyone respects in this House, not Draco."

She thought he would be rankled by petty insults? The truth, in this instance, was not so formidable a weapon as to make him react out of turn. He was in his second month of his first year, no one had any reason to respect him at that juncture. In time, however, they would all come to know how incorrect their presuppositions were. Hogwarts was a seven-year institution – there was ample time for his classmates to realize the full weight of his worth.

"So, with that said," Lawson rose to her feet; her confidence swelling in the face of his silence, "I think I'll be leaving now."

"No," Draco said firmly, stopping the young woman before she could take a single step.

"No?" She parroted back at him, clearly confused.

"You heard me." Draco inclined his head towards the vacated bed. "Have a seat and enjoy your tea. We're not done talking just yet." Despite the thorough castigation he'd just laid upon her and the response she offered in turn, he was adamant that they were going to talk then and there.

"And if I should just walk out?" Lawson had yet to take a single step, but she was still challenging him all the same… that would not be tolerated.

Draco allowed his voice to lower an octave as a spark of annoyance flared within him. She did not have ignorance as an excuse to try his patience, not anymore. "Then you would be making a very foolish mistake, and in spite of your presence here in my chambers in the first place, I don't think you're a fool, Lawson, but by all fucking means… Prove. Me. Wrong."

The whole reason Draco had taken the time to invite Lawson, a Half-Blood with no important name, titles, or finances to his party in the first place was that damn near everyone capable of critical analysis agreed that she was fucking impressive. Draco had only had the time to piece together whispers and rumors since he arrived at the fabled castle, but the pervasive sentiment around the Slytherin House was that the upstart half-blood was someone worth watching. Her grades were stellar, but anyone could secure good grades for themselves if they weren't abject fools. No, the reason Rae Lawson was turning heads in the Snake Pit was due to the subtle almost intangible way she had continually outmaneuvered any and all would-be problems. Half-bloods were not a unique existence within Slytherin, but aside from the rare, acknowledged bastard from a noble family, half-bloods were nothing more than average students who quickly learned that it was best to keep their heads down. Lawson had scorned this advice and almost made a point to continually elevate herself within the House notorious for playing power games and placing intrinsic value upon social status.

Not so much as a single emotion flitted across Lawson's features, but following a rather poignant pause, the fourth-year reclaimed her seat on the bed. One cream colored leg was crossed over the other as Lawson tilted her head to the side, one hand reaching out to reclaim her tea. "I'm listening."

"Glad to know I was not mistaken," Draco said, allowing the warmth of his drink to wash over him. Despite their placement near the dungeons, the Slytherin dorms were still kept at a rather comfortable temperature, however, given the sun's absence from the sky and the time of year, it was only natural that a bit of chill would seep in. The still steaming liquid did wonders in fighting off the cold's tender touch.

Abruptly, the door that connected his room to the rest of the dorms swung open to reveal the lithe frame of Theodore Nott. The pale teen was dressed in loose pajama pants and a black robe that bounced against his ankles, but he had chosen to forgo a shirt or shoes, as was his habit. Just like Draco, he had failed to fully dry his hair post shower, though the indicator that he had bathed was a welcome one given his previous activity. A lit cigarette was raised aloft as he lazily stumbled inside. "Alright, Drake, here I am, what'd you… want…? Theo's words trailed off as he finally noticed Lawson sitting on the bed. "The fuck?"

"Hey, Theo," Lawson smiled, by Draco's estimation a more genuine smile than what she'd offered him, and leaned back on to her forearms, the natural contours of her body on full display. Draco couldn't help but let his eyes be briefly drawn to her before he gathered his wits.

"It's Nott to you," Theo grunted, ignoring the flirtatious undertones of her greeting entirely. He gestured between them leaving a trail of smoke in the air. "You two about to fuck?" He asked as he sagged against the wall, his cigarette back between his lips. "Cause I'll…" he coughed into the crook of his arm twice. "I'll go. If I'm not needed, I'm not sticking around."

"No, Theo, you can stay," Draco interjected before the disheveled teen could take so much as a single step. "Lawson's intentions are no longer of a sensual variety."

Theo hummed, his eyes flitting between the two. "'No longer', huh?" He then walked over the to the tea-set Draco still had sitting out and poured himself a cup without even bothering to ask. Sometimes, his friend's absolute rejection of anything that could be described as social skills was frustrating, but Draco put up with more from Theo than he would anyone else.

"Like I was saying, Lawson, you're no fool," Draco repeated.

Lawson waved her hand towards Theo. "We're continuing this discussion now?"

"Don't mind me," Theo's voice was jumbled around his cigarette, "I already know anyway." He spilled a little bit of tea on his hand, mumbled profanity mixed in with his grunts of annoyance. "Fuck."

Draco ignored the barely sober antics of his friend as he pressed on. "Before we'd ever spoken, I saw that you were clever, and you've forced many people in our House to take note of that as well."

"Do your compliments have a point? Are you fishing for a way to get me to fuck you still? Because if so, save your breath, that ship sailed already."

Draco rolled his eyes. The real Lawson had a bit more bite to her than what she normally allowed to be shown. "Keep your childish taunts on a leash, I won't stand for further insults, not when I'm still trying to do you a favor."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "A favor?"

"A favor," he confirmed. "Your attempt to establish a connection between us tonight was ill conceived in terms of its execution, but the idea is one in which I support without reservation."

"Obviously, that's why you invited me to your little party in the first place."

"Oh, yeah, Drake, so fucking obvious," Theo's rough voice and even rougher commentary was improper but frequently well timed.

Draco began to chuckle derisively. "Oh, you have my motivations all figured out then?"

Lawson shrugged lightly, dutifully ignoring the condescension of her two House-mates. "What better way to make new friends then to invite a bunch of rich kids to a party? Eventually those friends will be in positions of power and will be able to help you out since you all have been 'close,'" she used her fingers to mime air-quotes, "ever since first-year."

"Correct, but only partially so," Draco said. "You think I'm only looking out for myself, but you've forgotten that quid pro quo is not intended to only flow in one party's favor. 'Something for something,' as the saying goes – an exchange. As for tonight, a favor for a favor."

Lawson scoffed. "And what favor did you do me beyond giving me the chance to lose three galleons? I know that to one such as you, that's a negligible amount, but not all of us have as much disposable income as you."

"Shouldn't have lost then…" Theo muttered, punctuating his blunt statement with a long drag. His tea forgotten, he collapsed backwards onto the rest of the bed not occupied by Lawson, his eyes fixated on the four-poster drapes hanging above him. Draco would have to arrange for the scent to be removed from his furnishings the next day.

"Do you truly not know?" Draco asked, ignoring Theo completely and genuinely taken aback at her ignorance. He knew she had focused her attention on her peers within their House, but surely, she was at least aware of some of the people he had chosen to invite that evening?

"Know what?" She asked, her confusion mingling with his surprise.

"Unbelievable," Draco ran his fingers through his hair. "You aren't aware of just who it was you rubbed shoulders with all evening, are you?"

"Kids of rich and important people, I'm sure."

"Merlin…" Draco could not help the surprised exclamation even as Theo began to cackle uncontrollably. "Genuinely, I thought better of you, Lawson. I did not expect you to be so shortsighted."

Blue eyes glared in his direction as she lunged to her feet. "You have no idea the lengths I've gone to since I got sorted into this fucking House! You think I'm being shortsighted?! Every single day I'm in this castle I have to think about what comes next! I have to plan for everything, every action some goddamn blood purist might take against me! And you two, entitled brats who has been fed with a silver spoon since the minute you were born, think you can judge me?!"

The outrage was expected, but even still, Draco's movements mirrored Lawson's as he stood up the moment she thought to insult him once more. Behind the raging young woman, he could just make out the focused, angry eyes of his friend as Theo slid his wand into his hand. Most things that could be said about Theo washed over him without receiving an ounce of his care or attention… but sometimes, comments about his life at home hit a nerve. A truly angry Theo was a dangerous man to cross. People who viewed themselves as having nothing to lose tended to not pay attention to consequences – individuals such as that did not care what they wrought. With a subtle movement of his fingers, Draco signaled his friend to back off. The look he received as a reply bordered on furious, but he relented all the same. As unstable as he was, Theo tended to listen to him for better or worse. There was a time for magic, and there was a time for words… the latter would suffice in this instance.

Draco had a variety of caustic remarks at the tip of his tongue that were just begging to be released; a dozen different ways he could slander her name and annihilate her reputation within a fortnight already coming together in his mind… but before a single syllable could pass from his lips, he paused, as the intensity of Rae Lawson's indignation met him head on, he could not help but recall a conversation he'd had with his father when he was but a boy years prior; a child earnestly listening to the wisdom of his elder in a room lit only by a low burning hearth:

"Draco, to be the Patriarch of our House, to be the future head of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, is to find success in everything you set out to accomplish."

"Everything?"

"Everything. This does not mean you will not encounter failure in your life, but every time you do fail, you will learn and emerge better, smarter, and stronger for it."

"Is that what sets us apart from others?"

"Indeed. Other, lesser individuals accept failure as the end of the journey rather than an obstacle to overcome. Mediocrity is not their sin, sloth is."

"But we are not better than everyone else in every way, right?

"Not inherently, son, no. There are many others who are able to do many things that I am not. Accepting our limitations and knowing how to succeed in spite of them is also the mark of a Malfoy."

"I… I think I understand?"

"You either understand, or you do not. Which is it?"

"I understand."

"Good. Ignorance is the beginning state of mind for any intelligent being, but only those who are content to wallow in it deserve our ire. Those who seek to learn, to grow, to prosper, they deserve our respect… and those who seek to topple us, they deserve our attention."

"People wish to harm us?"

"Of course. At any given moment, there are thousands of eyes who look upon our family with scorn, envy, hatred, and longing. Some of these eyes belong to other Noble families, others to members of the common rabble without a single galleon to their name. Draco… do not underestimate any of these people."

"They're that dangerous?"

"Potentially. I don't know, and neither do you. We are ignorant of their capabilities, son. All it takes is one moment of arrogance in concert with one enemy who is better than us in one way, and all that our ancestors have built, that I continue to build, and that you will take to even further heights, could come crashing down around us."

"I won't give them the chance!"

"I know you won't… because you're a Malfoy, and you will succeed."

Draco looked upon the visage of Rae Lawson and knew immediately that his father would not have acted as he did. Her ignorance was not a sin, as he would say, if anything it was an opportunity for him to enlighten her to the possibilities she had at her fingertips – an opportunity to solidify the bonds of friendship he had sought to create. The moment he denigrated her ignorance to her face was the moment he failed… it was time to learn from it.

Breathe in… Breathe out… Draco made another small movement with his fingers that prompted Theo to shrug and place his cigarette back in his mouth. Non-verbal communication was an important skillset for anyone to possess, and though it was embarrassing to admit, the two of them had practiced when they were younger. Draco allowed his attention to shift solely to Lawson; his eyes met the fierce glare of a woman who had nothing, who was nothing, who despite her position did not balk in front of him. There was a fire inside of her. "Fair point, Lawson," his voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know the life you've led, just as you don't know mine…" There was no audience in his chamber he needed to impress, there was no one he needed to convince of his goodwill, he would not apologize, but that did not mean he could not rectify the situation.

"And yet, you want to judge me…" Lawson said icily before scoffing. "It's clear neither of us have anything friendly to say." She turned to glance at Theo. "So, are we done here?"

They weren't done with one another, not by a long shot, and he was about to prove it. "Cedric Diggory," Draco began, "is the oldest son of Amos Diggory, current Lead Investigator in the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and favorite to be the next head of the entire Division." Lawson looked perplex by his sudden pivot, her eyes narrowing in consternation, but she did not interrupt him. "The Diggory family is quite well established, with their House earning the status of Noble and their gaining a seat on the Wizengamot following the late Eldritch Diggory's tenure as Minister of Magic in 1747. As for Cedric, even though he is just a third-year, he already has the respect of everyone in Hufflepuff, and is considered a leader among his peers while also perpetually being at the top of his class in academics."

"Cedric was at your table, huh?" Theo raised his head slightly before snorting. "Fucking Puff."

Lawson still stood between the two boys, her head on a swivel as she turned to look at whomever was talking. Whatever was going through her mind was a mystery to him, but she hadn't stormed out of the room, so he would continue without hesitation.

"Cho Chang," Draco declared, he was going through the names in the order that they sat at Lawson's table. He'd made certain to memorize who spoke with who throughout the entire evening. "A second-year in Ravenclaw and a deft hand at potions, she is the granddaughter of Shi-Kuo Chang, an international businessman who was born in China but has spent almost half of his life living in Britain and is viewed as a de facto ambassador to China." He had done meticulous research on everyone he could over the previous month and a half. Hogwarts was a golden opportunity to make connections and he refused to waste it. He sent out owls with missives and requests for information multiple times each day, and he would continue to do so if it meant the Malfoy family's position was made that much more secure. "Shi-Kuo was instrumental in helping to establish friendly ties between Britain and China during the war in the 40s, and his eldest daughter, Cho's aunt, received an Order of Merlin second class for her work in defending the English Channel from Grindelwald's forces as they tried to encroach by sea from the mainland. Cho's father, the second oldest child of Shi-Kuo, married a daughter of the Fawley family back in the 50s, and has since taken over a large portion of his father's enterprise."

Draco was well aware of the Chang family history because his father had been doing business with them for decades he was born. The Chang family were not the richest family in the world, but their continued success in the business sphere over the course of hundreds of years made them very good business partners to have. The opportunity to befriend Shi-Kuo's granddaughter was not one Draco was going to overlook.

Lawson slowly sat back down; her gaze pensive as she cupped her chin in one hand. "I was not aware of either of their family's positions…"

"Chang's aunt is an interesting woman to read about if you enjoy history," Theo murmured, reaching out to dispose of his ashes in the ashtray that was a permanent fixture in the room for exactly one person to make use of. "She hand-crafted this runic array that would launch canon balls further than any spell could reach. Difficult to aim, but destructive as hell."

"Ernest MacMillan," Draco continued on without giving Lawson time to respond further, "first-year Hufflepuff student and second son to House MacMillan, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, who were previously chiefs of Clan MacMillan, a Highland Scottish Clan that has called these isles home since before the sixth century." The MacMillans were a comparatively quiet family in the political sphere, but their influence and pedigree were second to almost none. They were also considered the foremost experts on druidic magic alongside House Selwyn. It was curious that the two families found themselves on opposite sides of the previous war. "Who has been on these lands longer, Theo, your family or the MacMillans?"

"Probably them," Theo grunted. "The Notts have been here since the days of the Anglo-Saxon settlers, back when we were called Knot, with a 'K', but I don't think we arrived until around year 700 or so… I'm not fucking sure, ask my sister, she's the one that cares about that shit."

"Your family has been here for that long?" Lawson sounded almost awed. The average witch or wizard knew that the Noble families were all old, but few appreciated just how ancient they were. Even with the increased life-spans of magicals compared to muggles, to have a single line continue for well over a thousand years was an impressive and rare feat.

"We're not the only ones," Theo replied. "Who's next, Drake? Even I'm curious now."

"Ronald Weasley," Draco had not even invited the youngest Weasley male, as Theo knew, but even still, his family was quite well known. "Sixth and youngest son, but still a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and either he or one of his siblings will inherit the head seat of House Prewett through their mother, Molly Weasley née Prewett. The family does not boast many finances, but still find success in a number of different fields. The current patriarch of the family is the head of sub-division within the DMLE; the oldest son, a former Head Boy at Hogwarts, works for goblin clans in Egypt; and the second oldest son, who graduated just last year, was a prefect and Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and is now working in one of Europe's most premier dragon sanctuaries after declining offers to play Quidditch professionally."

The Weasleys were a known name in the magical community, but they weren't always the most well-respected. They were old and their blood was pure, that much at least most Noble families offered credence to, but they'd never made the same headway into politics or gained the same level of financial assets that many other Houses had. Despite that, the most recent generation was garnering quite a bit of attention because of the undeniable strides they were making in the magical community.

The goblin clans in Egypt did not regularly work with human curse breakers, let alone those who were straight out of school. Likewise, talented seekers were rare to find, and if the rumors were to be believed, Charlie Weasley turned down multiple offers to pursue his passion of working with and taming some of the most dangerous magical creatures in the world – a task that was extraordinarily difficult and complex according to every expert on the subject. Then there were the siblings who had not yet graduated… Percival Weasley had already made Prefect and was tied for the top position in his class alongside a muggle-born girl in Ravenclaw. Early estimations had him as a front-runner for Head Boy in two years' time. The Weasleys did not wield the same influence that other Houses did, but to underestimate them would be the height of foolishness.

Lawson actually began to laugh, though there was a hint of resignation in it. "You don't need to explain the Weasleys to me… I should have known not to underestimate Bill Weasley's little brother. That family isn't normal."

Draco had almost forgotten that it was Ron, of all people, who had taken the pot at his table. "That's right, Weasley is the one that scooped the galleons right from under your nose."

"How the fuck did that happen? You let a Gryff kick your ass in a game of lies?"

Lawson shook her head. "He had all of us on the backfoot from minute one. Honestly, I'm not sure I stood a chance against him."

That information was filed away for a later date. In the shadow of Evans, it was far too easy to overlook the tall redhead, but apparently, he was deserving of some degree of attention. "Are you starting to see the picture?" Draco asked the girl, finally reclaiming his own seat after pouring himself another cup. "Do I even need to fully outline why the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived might be a good person to befriend? Never mind that he's the heir to House Potter."

"He's the heir? Not his brother?" Her surprise was understandable given that almost no one even knew he existed until he showed up at Hogwarts.

"Evans is the heir," Theo confirmed before beginning to chuckle lowly. "That will be a fun shake-up in the Wizengamot in a few years time."

"And we can't forget his other friend, can we?" Draco interjected smoothly. "Lavender Brown, the only child of William Brown, who owns and operates a potions ingredients supplier company that has seen over 20% growth every year since 1972." The Brown family was one of the few names his father had expressly encouraged him to try and befriend before he departed for Hogwarts. The sheer amount of money William Brown had generated for himself was staggering. The Browns were nobodies, but good business sense and a few risky gambles had paid off in spades. Draco had no doubt that William Brown would see his House reach Noble status within ten years.

"No need to explain the final person to me, I know about Hilliard," Lawson said, waving her arm through the air. "The Arithmancy prodigy who already managed to secure himself an apprenticeship with one of the world's foremost masters on the subject. A woman in Hungary if I recall."

"That's correct," Draco confirmed. "Emise Kocsis is highly regarded all over the world, let alone in Europe. Robert Hilliard gained her attention to such a degree that she offered to teach him before he even entered his sixth year. What does that say for Hilliard's potential?"

Students such as Robert Hilliard were part of the reason why Hogwarts enjoyed its reputation as one of the best magical schools in the world, if not the best. Draco had read the article that detailed Hilliard's accomplishment, and proper credit was given to Professor Vector for not only recognizing his talent but cultivating it and entering him into a thesis competition from the mainland that was normally reserved for students who were about to graduate. Hilliard had won the entire damn thing. In another school, his talents could have been wasted… but Hogwarts was different, and the entire world recognized that fact.

"A bit more than just the kid of some important bastard, huh, Lawson?" Theo apparently could not resist the jibe.

"That's everyone who was at my table, Malfoy… so, go ahead, finish your sales pitch." Lawson's choice of words was harsher than her tone.

Draco was more than happy to oblige her. "I've been at Hogwarts a little over a month, and I was able to put you at a table for hours with all of those people. Each one of them is another connection, another potential friend who can help elevate you beyond your station. Just imagine what I can do in seven years, Lawson. Just imagine who I can introduce you to outside of this castle. You don't have to like me… but I am a very good friend to have." Draco knew he had swayed her the moment their eyes met. Ambition was a hallmark trait of Slytherins, and he would be able to see its telltale glint shining from within her from a mile away.

"A favor for a favor?"

His father had taught him that it was always better to have a friend instead of an enemy. People were always willing to work with their friends in the name of mutual satisfaction… and if they ever stopped being friends, well, that was when the Malfoy habit of collecting blackmail material on anyone and everyone they knew came in handy. Draco would make as many friends as benefitted him… but he would place his trust in almost no one.

"An equal exchange."

"Friends it is," she said, extending her hand towards him. "The name's Rae Lawson, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Draco allowed a smile to flit across his face. That was the exact same line she'd used weeks prior when they first introduced themselves. "Draco Malfoy, likewise."