"All I'm saying is that we can't be certain he wasn't trying to access your mind again," Hermione said, never looking up from her current brick of a book. After five years at Hogwarts, Harry never found books in the library that large. Was there some reserved section for people who spent over half their free time studying?

"Malfoy took the mark," Harry said, confident, because what other option was there? He ran his finger over one of the Half-blood Prince's notes about increasing the potency of certain balms.

"You've been around the mark before. Never made your scar hurt," Ron said from his position sprawled out over the couch, skimming through The Prophet. Today's headline article was about the possibility of splitting the Department of International Wizarding Relations into two separate groups.

"But never one recently given. Might make a difference."

"It's highly improbable," Hermione said. "You never should have stopped practicing occlumency. Dumbledore must have someone else he could recommend–"

"Voldemort isn't trying to get into my head."

"You can't be sure."

"He just happened to time it exactly to when I was talking to Malfoy? Stopped trying to get in when me and Ron walked off?"

Hermione shook her head, and turned a page. Harry had already tried telling her that the dark marks weren't in any books in the school. Voldemort wouldn't have jotted down notes in the margins when coming up with the method. Whatever magic went into creating them must have triggered the pain in his scar.

"So Malfoy's gone Death Eater," Ron said. "Hardly a surprise, and not a threat."

"He can't do anything here," Harry said. "Why risk giving it to him before a year in school?"

"His father is in Azkaban," Hermione said. "If he took the mark, it's likely just to display family loyalty."

Ron scoffed. "Some dark lord if he needs money to accomplish his goals."

"I still think you should tell Dumbledore."

"Not just going to storm up to his office whenever I feel a twinge."

"It isn't exactly common," Hermione said. "And let's not forget, the last time, he managed to possess you for a while."

"And I forced him out. If it happens again, I can handle it."

"It might already be too late by the time that happens."

Harry stood, and put the Potion's textbook in his bag. "I'm going to breakfast. If you want to keep looking into it, that's fine, but I'm not going to panic without reason."

"You-Know-Who having access to your mind isn't exactly lacking reason."

It had been months since their encounter in the Ministry. If Voldemort wanted something further in Harry's mind, he would have pursued it by now. Malfoy took the mark, and some residual magic certainly resulted in the pain. It also might explain why Malfoy had been acting so off this year.

"I'll come with you," Ron said. "So long as we both promise to stop talking about that twat."

"Malfoy or Voldemort?" Harry asked, and earned a playful shove.

But Malfoy was all he could think about while they made their way down to the Great Hall. While Ron talked Quidditch strategy and Slytherin's new Seeker, Harry checked each hall they crossed. If he wanted to prove his theory correct, he needed to get near enough to trigger his scar hurting again. Two times for confirmation.

He didn't spot Malfoy on the walk to the Great Hall, and didn't see him at the Slytherin table. It was still early.

Harry sat facing that half of the hall so he would be able to spot Malfoy when he came in. Maybe if he timed it right, leaving at the same time would get him close enough. He could test the theory without Ron realizing what he was doing.

Given Ron's current glare down the table to where Dean and Ginny sat, Harry doubted he would notice. They were practically a set pair, and Harry rarely saw one without the other, outside of the dorms, at least. And with the tension between Ron and Dean, Harry tried to avoid their dorm room.

"They've got no discretion," Ron said, and angrily fixed his plate.

"They're just sitting beside each other."

"They'd be able to talk better with the table between them. I should tell them that. I should go over there–"

"You'd never hear the end of it from her."

Likewise, Harry didn't hear the end of it from Ron. All throughout breakfast, he mumbled under his breath about how his sister shouldn't be so public with her relationship, and Harry didn't stop him. It provided a distraction so he could continue checking across the room for Malfoy, who a quarter hour later, hadn't appeared.

Hermione joined them just before the end of the hour.

"After looking into it, I've decided talking to Dumbledore is your only option."

"You decided that last night," Ron said.

"And spent hours confirming it. You shouldn't be able to feel a mark, Harry. Something else is happening."

"Should I walk up to the table now?" Harry asked. "Wave him over from here?"

Hermione's sigh acted as an argument against his sarcasm. "Harry."

"I'll mention it next time he asks me to his office," Harry said. "But I'm not going to cause alarm over what's likely nothing."

"Your scar hurting has never been nothing."

Which was why Harry needed to prove to everyone he was right about Malfoy. When the scar hurt, he hadn't seen any visions, hadn't been forced into anything. It hadn't been an attempted invasion into his mind. Given the timing and the proximity to Malfoy, the only logical explanation was that Malfoy was the cause. If it wasn't because the mark was new, then that was all the more reason to discover the truth.

It might have been new magic.

Harry kept out an eye all throughout breakfast, but when the plates began vanishing back to the kitchens, Malfoy still hadn't made an appearance. Harry itched to pull out his map, but it was still sequestered wherever Snape had hidden it. With it, there would be much less question over what Malfoy was plotting this year.

Snape wouldn't have turned it in with the other contraband. He'd been convinced it was something nefarious since third year, and since he had taken it at the train, he likely had been trying to figure out what exactly it was. Or had he seen Harry using it during the occlumency practice?

After class, he would go in search of it. The invisibility cloak had fooled Snape before, and Harry could use it again to get back what had been taken from him.

But he didn't have the time to run to the dorm room before classes began, and at least for two of the classes today, he could keep an eye on Malfoy. In Transfiguration, he was one of the last to take his seat, barely making it in time to pull out his parchment before McGonagall entered the room. Harry tried to watch discretely as he slid parchment to his deskmate, but ended up needing to focus on the lesson. Classes this year were significantly more of a challenge.

After lunch, they had Defense, and for the practical exercise, Harry positioned himself across from Ron, but at an angle where he could watch Malfoy across the room. Seeing him spar was the most expression he'd shown in a week, even if that expression only presented itself in frustration and pain whenever he was knocked into the wall.

Harry and Ron had better luck than Malfoy, mastering the new spells and performing them nonverbally. It gave Snape nothing to correct, although he walked by them half a dozen times over to look for something to criticize, but leaving with an upturned nose.

When the class ended and Harry had put away his books, Malfoy had already gone.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked. He shifted his schoolbag on his shoulder, seeming distracted despite the question.

"Grand. I'm meeting with Slughorn, so I need to run."

"This early?"

Harry shrugged in lieu of an honest answer. His meeting with Slughorn wasn't until five, but he had plenty to do in the meantime, things Ron wouldn't understand. Instead, he would expect justification.

Harry doubted a gut feeling counted.

First thing, he needed to get his map back. Knowing even the little he did about Snape, he knew he could find it in his office, which was still where he stored potions ingredients, although Slughorn had taken his old post. Maybe Snape would still be wrapping up classes.

Harry took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping between floors when the stairs moved before he finished his step. But he didn't let that slow him down. The Fat Lady let him in without a fuss, and straight after classes, the common room was empty of anyone who would try to talk to him.

He'd left his trunk open that morning, and dug to the bottom to find the cloak, wrapped in a sweater Molly had knitted him the Christmas before. Rather than putting it on now and risking bumping into someone while invisible, he shoved it under his robes, and left his book bag under his bed.

As he turned to leave, he noticed his bed had been made. It reminded him of a request he had made the week before, one he needed to follow up on.

"Dobby?" Harry said. "Dobby, do you have a minute to–"

Dobby arrived with a crackle, rushing up from behind Harry to climb up Ron's trunk.

"How're things in the kitchens?" Harry asked, although it was the same question he'd greeted him with the week before.

"Most excellent, Harry Potter. Dobby likes it much better than making beds and scrubbing tapestries."

"I'm glad to hear it. And I was actually wondering if you'd had a chance to do that thing we talked about."

"Dobby has done as Harry Potter asked. But…"

Dobby wrung his hands together, and again, Harry debated whether it had been wise to ask Dobby to spy on his former employer. Master? Family? Harry didn't know which, if any, term was appropriate.

"But?" Harry urged.

"But Dobby has nothing to report."

"Nothing?"

"He walks to his lessons," Dobby said, and paced over the trunk. "–and he studies in the library, and he takes his rounds at night."

"And you haven't seen him doing anything else?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby does not always be watching."

"Of course not," Harry said quickly, before Dobby assumed he had done anything wrong. "I really appreciate you helping with this."

"Dobby will keep watching."

"Thanks, Dobby. Good luck."

Dobby disappeared as quickly as he'd come, but left Harry with no new information. Although, the lack of information felt significant. In previous years, Harry had run into Malfoy all over the castle, the courtyard, down near the lake. But supposedly this year, Malfoy only did the bare minimum. Harry only saw him with his friends during meals, and not even all of them. Crabbe and Goyle had been left to wander aimlessly on their own.

Why was Malfoy suddenly so invested in his studies? Certainly becoming a prefect hadn't given him a change of heart.

Harry's scar had hurt when he stood near Malfoy. Now Malfoy had stopped acting out. He dropped his extra curriculars.

Harry had to find out why.

He left Gryffindor Tower, convinced everyone's gaze was on him. Harry wanted to be discreet, and tried to walk with intention, as though he had plans aside from stealing from a professor and tracking down a student who clearly didn't want to be found. Until he found a place to switch to the invisibility cloak, he acted as if he had an innocent destination in mind.

In an empty classroom, Harry pulled on the cloak, and then descending to the dungeon corridor, but quickly had to press back against one of the damp stone walls to keep Pansy, Theo, and Millicent from walking directly into him.

"-on rounds tonight," Pansy was saying.

"If he wasn't always locked in his room, I could just ask him myself," Theo said as they started up the stairs. "Should never have given a transfer in a private room."

"If they can magic up new rooms, I don't see why we all–"

Pansy's voice faded at the top of the stairs, and Harry didn't follow to try eavesdropping further, even if the conversation had grabbed his interest.

He hadn't heard anything about a private room. If students had been given them before, Hermione would certainly know.

It was a question for another time.

Harry proceeded down the hallway, hugging close to the wall to avoid running into anyone. He walked more confidently with the wall at his shoulder and all the classrooms empty, but even with the confidence of an empty hall, kept up his guard. A ghost could appear at any point, and if he startled, the cloak might slip.

But when he came to Snape's office, Harry sighed in hushed tones of a whispered conversation came through the closed door, and the attempt at discretion kept Harry from immediately leaving, although he wouldn't be able to get the map tonight.

"If there is more I need to add to the order, I will send an owl with the modifications tonight," Snape said.

"We will only need another batch's worth," came the other voice, one Harry didn't recognize, despite the nagging familiarity. Harry couldn't place it, not as a whisper.

"I can work through the holidays to refill some of the stores," Snape said. "If the current arrangement proves unsatisfactory."

"This term hasn't proven successful. If it carries past winter break, much will need to be reevaluated."

The rattle of bottles gave Harry a clearer understanding of what was happening inside the room, and nearly convinced him to leave. It sounded like a student had been struggling with Slughorn's lessons, and needed ingredients to practice outside of the classroom. For access to Snape's storeroom, they must have been a Slytherin.

Harry took a quiet step back, but then stopped.

"Borgin sent back word."

"Oh?"

"He hasn't dealt with the like in some time, but he believes he can identify the necessary spells for repair."

Harry couldn't hear what came next, but also couldn't risk getting any closer. He wanted to know who Snape was talking to, and why they were working with Borgn on something, but if he got caught, what would he say in his defense? Snape already confiscated the map; Harry couldn't lose the cloak as well.

Reluctantly, he stepped back, and after a moment of self-conviction, decided it was best to get to Slughorn, even if it meant arriving early. He could ask Dumbledore about Snape the next time they met.

Once down the hall and around a corner, Harry checked that he was alone, and quickly slid out of the cloak. Without his book bag, he had nowhere to store it, an oversight he really should have considered beforehand. He didn't want to leave it unattended, even if no one would be able to see it, and settled for tying it around his waist. He hadn't taken off his robe yet, and it hid the bulk underneath.

Slughorn was at his desk grading essays when Harry arrived.

"Harry my boy. I wasn't expecting you for another half hour," Slughorn said, and pulled out a pocket watch as if he might have been wrong about the time.

"I had some free time and thought I may come early. I can come back later if you'd like," Harry said, angling to the door as an offer to leave.

"Nonsense! Come come. I've got a kettle warm and tea at the ready."

Harry grabbed a chair from one of the workstations, picking out one clean of the day's potions lesson, and pulled it over to the opposite side of Slughorn's desk. Although he deviated from the routine slightly by showing up early, they quickly fell into their poured the tea, they exchanged small talk, mostly about Harry's classes, and Harry wondered what Dumbledore wanted him to find. Slughorn, for all his stories, didn't seem to hold any significant information.

"This generation is starkly different from my previous tenure at Hogwarts," Slughorn said, and added a second spoon of sugar to his second cup of tea. "It's much harder to get them to focus on their lessons."

"There is a war looming, professor," Harry said.

"Yes, yes. But potioncraft will be such a useful skill, all things considered. You believe it's their fretting that keeps them from improving?"

"It certainly could be a factor."

Slughorn stirred his drink as he pondered, and then said, spoon clinking against his cup, "But by that reason, your grades would be the furthest behind, wouldn't you say? But you top every class! Even including the seventh years."

Harry's thoughts drifted back to the book, safely tucked away in his book bag. It was the only textbook he ever pored over, and ever wanted to spend his time studying. He told himself it was because excelling in class was a new achievement. But in actuality, he knew it was seeing magic's formation.

For so much of his time at Hogwarts, he believed that magic was a fixed subject. There were spells and specific wand movements and hundreds of years of history that felt unchanging.

But the Half-Blood Prince changed things. He adjusted the potions and improved them. He scratched new spells in the margins of the book. Magic could be created, adapted, molded. Why wasn't that part of their teaching? Why did they only learn a specific set of spells?

Would those working for Voldemort stick to the written playbook?

"If I spent too long worrying over what happens outside the boundaries of the grounds, I'd never sleep," Harry said.

"Naturally. But let's not talk over such drear topics. You have a match coming up soon, don't you?"

"The first is in two weeks," Harry said.

"How is captain suiting you?"

Harry tilted his head. "It's a lot more politics than I had anticipated."

"Taking on a leadership role within your own house can't be simple. Not when everyone expects friendship to give them an advantage."

Slughorn's gaze went distant, just for a moment, but he corrected it without too much delay. His typical, pleasantly absent smile returned.

"I suppose at some point, all leaders have to guide their friends."

"So long as they have them."

"So long as they have them," Harry agreed.

They finished their tea, and carried on various conversations until time for dinner. As typical, most of their conversations dealt with Slughorn's former students and their varying successes. But there was also some talk of an upcoming event for a select group of students. Slughorn mentioned he previously had a group come for after-dinner pudding, but hadn't started it up again this term.

Dumbledore would expect Harry to attend any events, so Harry reacted as if the thought of a monthly dinner with Slughorn and his elite students wasn't ripping out nails.

They walked up to the Great Hall together, and split apart to go to their own tables.

On reflex, Harry checked across the room. He nearly did a double take, and then realized that he hadn't expected to see Malfoy at the Slytherin table. He'd skipped so many meals lately that it came as a surprise to see him there, even facing away.

"How'd it go?" Ron asked when Harry took his seat. "Much longer than normal."

"Same as always. He reminded me how much work we have to do before the first game."

"This season will be a breeze. Slytherin is in shambles, and what other threat is there?"

"The other teams both practice just as hard, Ron," Ginny said. She was sitting with them, Harry noticed, and not Dean, Seamus, and Neville, who had a game set up in the middle of the table. It was rambunctious, and resulted in several glasses almost knocked over.

"The first match is always rough," Harry said, as a way of smoothing over both points. "And we still need to get used to working as a team."

"It's the same team. Can't say that for everyone."

Harry put together a plate, and again checked across the room. Through the crowd, Malfoy was hard to make out, but Harry could tell by his posture that he was reading.

It did seem like Dobby had been right. Malfoy hadn't done anything but study all year, although that didn't make sense. Harry had seen him study before. As far as he could tell, Malfoy's grades were never an issue, but his devotion to their classes? The pain in his scar?

"More practice never hurt anything," Hermione said. She also had a book out, but Harry couldn't see the cover.

"As long as the weather holds up, Ravenclaw is almost a guaranteed win," Ron said.

"I didn't see you practicing over the summer," Ginny said.

Ron pulled a face. "I'm confident in our team."

"The team needs to be confident with you covering the hoops."

Harry debated booking more time on the pitch, and picked through his dinner, thinking back over the conversation with Slughorn, and what might be of interest to Dumbledore. Did he have an issue with choosing certain students, while excluding others? Certainly there had to be some kind of conflict there, some brash display of favoritism.

What else was there?

"We'll be able to celebrate at Hogsmeade. Harry owes me a butterbeer."

"We'll need to win first," Harry said. "I think we could squeeze in an extra practice."

"With all your NEWTS?" Hermione asked.

"Not everyone is taking so many, or cares to be top of the class."

Hermione gave him an affronted look, bookmarking her page with a thumb as she gave him her full, irritated attention. "What's that meant to mean?"

"Only that school isn't everything this year. We have more to worry about."

And he was tired of pretending otherwise. There was conflict building outside of Hogwarts's walls, and while they sat studying how to transfigure mirrors into curtains, Voldemort gained power. Nothing good came from him lying low, and the failure at the Ministry would have only added to his anger.

He didn't need to be here. He needed to be out there, doing something. Helping.

"What good has worrying ever done us?" Hermione asked.

"Well, we protected the philosopher's stone," Ron said, and began checking off his list with his fingers. "And we worried over the heir of Slytherin, and let's not forget the tizzy you got into over the triwizard–"

"Those were all happening at the school."

Ron almost said it, and stopped when he looked to Harry. But it didn't need to be said. From the expressions around him, they were all thinking it.

Sirius hadn't been at Hogwarts.

Now Sirius wasn't anywhere.

"Just doesn't seem right, pretending nothing is happening," Harry said.

"Being prepared is the best defense," Hermione agreed. "Which means learning all we can."

"Sixth year spells and tricks won't stop him."

"They certainly won't hurt matters."

Harry distracted himself with dinner, always good, even on the days he didn't feel up to a full meal. Thinking about that night at the Ministry, about Sirius, tended to strip his appetite.

He let his mind wander while eating, over how he could best use his time this year to prepare. Dumbledore seemed to think Harry's efforts were best spent with Slughorn. But over a month into the term, Harry couldn't see why. There wasn't anything in Potions he could be taught that the Half-Blood Prince couldn't teach better, and all Slughorn wanted to talk about was the students who had become celebrities.

Maybe he should tell Dumbledore about his scar hurting. It hadn't felt the same as it had last year, when Voldemort manipulated Harry's thoughts. It had been a quieter pain, less intrusive, more like… more like Quirrell.

Harry checked across the Great Hall another time, right as Malfoy stood. It was early to have finished dinner, but when Pansy stood, Harry assumed they were leaving for rounds.

Malfoy's prefect rounds were the only time he wasn't studying. If he was plotting something, rounds seemed like an easy time to slip away. He could go into rooms usually off-limits, under the premise of checking for students wandering where they shouldn't have been. But that would involve Pansy, wouldn't it?

The cloak was still wrapped around his waist. Checking wouldn't harm anything.

Having decided, Harry ate a little more quickly. He didn't want to draw attention to leaving, and knew if he left right after Malfoy, someone would put the pieces together.

"Have either of you started your Transfiguration essay yet?" Hermione asked.

It gave Harry a moment of panic.

"Which essay?"

"McGonagall's essay for the end of term."

The panic subsided.

"That isn't due for ages," Ron said.

"It's also six feet. And she has to approve your topic first."

As much as Harry preferred to put off homework until the last minute, Hermione had a point. He at least needed to start thinking over his subject. If he got the topic cleared early, McGonagall would think he put in more work than he certainly would.

"Thanks," Harry told Hermione. "I fully would have forgotten."

She nodded, not necessarily appeased, but at least content with his implied agreement to get started. He likely should thank her more often for how regularly she kept him informed on what they had due in each class.

When his plate was nearly empty, Harry stood.

"I actually think I may go look into topics," he said. "Skim some titles and see if anything jumps out."

"You could always pick a subject you think may come in handy, for future use," she said pointedly.

"Don't suppose you'll give me a headstart?"

"If you look and can't decide among a few ideas, I can help narrow your focus."

It was as much help as she offered these days, but Harry didn't blame her. She was taking as many NEWTS as anyone at Hogwarts, and had given them so much help in the past years. Harry could manage his own courseload.

Usually.

Ron didn't ask to join him in studying, giving Harry the perfect chance to leave the cafeteria alone. He didn't know exactly where Malfoy did his rounds, another instance when having the map would have been useful, but he doubted it would be any of the main halls. And knowing what he did of Ron and Hermione's schedule, he knew they took four floors, leaving the other three to another set of prefects.

The Slytherins must have been assigned to the bottom three floors and the dungeons. Starting at the top and working down made sense, but he also didn't know how long they would stay out. Maybe Malfoy hadn't left for rounds at all.

And at this time of day, the halls were too crowded for Harry to try putting on the cloak and walking through the main floors. He wandered toward the library, and deciding to assure his cover story, went inside to look over some of the Transfiguration books available. Human transfiguration could be an interesting subject, and something he might actually use once outside.

He looked for a while, but didn't check out anything. He didn't want to carry books with him in the event he ended up using the cloak later on. But it did eat up some time between dinner and the majority of students returning to their common rooms.

So he started his search. It was harder to look inconspicuous without any real destination in mind, but no one stopped him while he walked. Harry went down back halls, halls that only led to classrooms, checked inside some of the classrooms, and hoped Malfoy wasn't already in the dungeons. There wouldn't be any good reason for being down there at this hour.

He must have been wandering the corridors for half an hour when he found him. Harry almost hadn't come this way, because the only thing on this specific third-floor hallway was a long stretch of windows.

But Malfoy was sitting alone on one of the windowsills, book open beside him, and parchment on top of it.

"Is this what prefects really do when not stripping house points?" Harry asked.

Malfoy even studied on rounds?

Malfoy startled, and when he spotted Harry, let out a heavy breath.

"Gryffindor's due to lose some," Malfoy said. "Looking to give me a reason?"

Harry closed the distance, just to confirm it was actually homework Malfoy was working on. He couldn't make out the writing until just an arm's reach away. He assumed at first it was because Malfoy had that ridiculous penmanship, all perfectly formed loops and tidy lines, the best penmanship galleons could buy, but the parchment had completely different handwriting on it. Malfoy couldn't have worsened his handwriting since third year, had he?

"You're the one slacking on rounds. How'd you lose Parkinson?"

Malfoy had the prefect pin on his collar, or Harry might have assumed he was just looking to study somewhere quiet. Even Ron didn't just wear his around the halls.

Malfoy rolled the parchment and began filling his book bag. It gave Harry a glimpse of the title of the book–Advanced Charms and their Applications.

Homework.

"Don't tell me you've decided to just run whenever you see me," Harry said, because Malfoy hadn't responded, and he needed something out of him.

The taunt brought a flush to Malfoy's face, but didn't stop him from collecting his things.

"Seriously," Harry went on, "You give up Quidditch, stop tormenting first years with Crabbe and Goyle, and now won't even answer when spoken to?"

"Is it simply your goal to harass me all year?" Malfoy asked. He stood, and this close, Harry realized they were the same height. It was hard not to assume Malfoy was taller when he always stared down his nose.

"Just looking for an answer."

"There isn't one. I'm too busy for you."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want."

Harry cut off Malfoy before he could walk away, then blocked his path another time when he tried to step around.

"You really are looking to lose points."

"Tell me why you quit the team and I'll go," Harry offered.

"To make time to study," Malfoy said, and tried to walk around him again. When Harry blocked him again, Malfoy worked his jaw in anger. It wasn't like him not to push back. None of this was like him.

"Tell me the actual reason."

"Are you so eager for a fight?"

"You've never been a fight, Malfoy."

A vein in Malfoy's head pulsed, but that simple, almost imperceptible movement brought Harry to the realization his scar wasn't hurting. He was close enough to Malfoy to grab him, and his scar didn't even twinge.

Something in the Slytherin common room then? It hadn't been Malfoy afterall.

"Get out of my way," Malfoy said.

"Give me an answer."

"Do you think if you keep me here long enough, the story will change?" Malfoy asked. "I'm clearly studying."

He had been shirking his rounds to study. Harry couldn't deny that. But that also had been a vastly different penmanship than Harry had seen in that one Potions class, after the incident with Buckbeak, when Harry had been forced to be Malfoy's partner for a lesson. Was he copying someone else's work? Was that why he had to find a remote hall to make a copy of them?

"You and I both know–"

"Draco."

The flush from Malfoy's face drained immediately, and he looked over Harry's shoulder. Harry looked back, and found Thomas McGruder at the end of the hall, a small stack of books in his hand.

"Thomas," Malfoy said tensely.

"Weren't we meeting in the library to study?"

Had he been reviewing Thomas's notes?

"I was just heading that way."

But Harry still stood between the two of them. He doubted he could get more answers from Malfoy with anyone else present, and stepped aside to let him pass.

Malfoy didn't hesitate.

Harry looked out the window where Malfoy had been sitting, just in case there was anything there he might have missed. It overlooked the Forbidden Forest, but Harry couldn't see much in the twilight.

He ended up turning to catch the last glance of Malfoy. And Thomas, who was seemingly leading Malfoy away with a firm grip on his left forearm.