"I used to wonder why I was a ghost, but as the years have gone on, I've come to realize that maybe I stayed on God's green earth because there were more people in need of my help. Every time a young Hufflepuff comes to me for advice and can walk away with their head held a little higher, I truly feel that I'm in the right place." -The Fat Friar to a young Pomona Sprout in the Hufflepuff common room. September 1948.

Chapter 13:

Harry Evans gazed up at the large congregation of owls with a heavy sigh, the expunged air from his lungs woefully visible before rapidly fading away. The Owlery was situated in one of the castle's stupidly tall towers, but for some ungodly reason, it was exposed to the open air during the entire journey upward. Hogwarts was pretty damn drafty at the best of times, but the slight bits of magic built into the main walkways of the school meant that it wasn't unbearable; a fact that would apparently remain true even when winter well and truly arrived, or so Harry had heard from older students at least. These protections apparently did not extend to the damned Owlery.

Luckily, it was still only the early days of October, so while there was a fair bit of chill in the wee hours of the morning, the days remained relatively comfortable… which was exactly why Harry was convinced the Owlery was cursed with foul, evil, loathsome magic. It was way too fucking cold on those stairs. There wasn't a random wind coming off the Black Lake. There were no random frost elementals trying to find a new home. Nothing. And yet, somehow, by the time Harry reached the top of the tower, his teeth were chattering, his fingers were numb, and ice was forming in his unkempt hair. The conditions had been the exact same when he delivered letters in September, and he'd be willing to bet that they'd be the exact same come May as well. A quiet vow of revenge was sworn that day. The one who had supposedly cursed the Owlery would not know until it was too late, but Harry Evans would make them pay.

The hoot of one of the many, many nocturnal birds drew Harry away from his thoughts of painful revenge. As if the arduous campaign to even reach the blasted birds' roost wasn't bad enough, the whole purpose behind Harry's visit had him pissed off. Tucked away in his book-bag was a letter that he really, really, really did not want to send.

"It's already written, I'm bloody well up here, no point in backing out now you fucking coward," Harry told himself for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Ever since Daniel had suggested writing to Frank and Alice for advice, Harry had been annoyed. He was just barely mature enough to admit that he had mixed feelings when it came to his godmother and her husband. On one hand, he genuinely did not hate Alice for the choices she'd made; but on the other hand, he was still fucking pissed that she'd made said choices in the first place. Part of Harry wanted to keep the woman at arm's distance and just move on from her, while another part of him was vaguely curious about the woman who'd been his mother's best friend and raised his brother as her own. Harry's heart was a tangled mess of thoughts and emotions, and he was about ready to set it all on fire just for simplicity's sake.

"Goddamn, I'm pathetic." Harry shook his head and lit another fag. He'd gone through four smokes and half a bottle of Ogden's just writing the damn letter, and now he needed more chemicals flowing into him just to send the damned thing. Ron had seen his frustrations with trying to write it and like a good friend had reminded him he didn't have to, but no, Harry was determined not to let a fucking piece of parchment covered in ink beat him.

The worst part was that he didn't even understand why he was so reluctant to send the letter. Ron had asked him if it was related to not wanting their help, but that wasn't it at all. He'd already accepted Alice's help and advice in a dozen different ways, from stories about his father to potions for cleansing his lungs. The redhead's guess was a good one, but Harry was almost certain that something other than pride was at play. Whatever it was that Harry was feeling at that time – whether it could be called an emotion, one of the seven deadly sins, or some other nebulous concept based around feelings – it had a ferocious grip over him that refused to let go. The only reason he had even made it this far was his own damn stubbornness had forced him to do so. Well, the alcohol and nicotine helped too.

Try as he might, though, Harry could not bring himself to take that final step towards victory and hand the letter off to one of the Hogwarts owls, but nor could he walk back down the stairs and admit defeat. Stuck between two choices with nowhere to go, he simply sat down, his ass meeting the cold stone as his back leaned against the wall. With his cigarette held firmly between his lips, Harry flicked his wand into his hand and muttered some warming charms onto the stone floor, the stone wall, anywhere that he could cast the spell to provide a modicum of warmth. The charm was relatively simple to cast on its own, but there was a bit more complexity involved when cast on living creatures, hence the lack of charm applied to his own person. Flitwick had 'suggested' that the first-year students not attempt to apply it to themselves just yet since burns and frighteningly high fevers were an extremely common side effect of casting the spell incorrectly, but Harry was confident he'd have it down after his next private practice session. The diminutive professor hadn't been lying in saying that it was tricky; but being able to feel your own magic remained a most advantageous ability.

An unspecified but quite large number of charms later and the ambient temperature of the owlery had risen to a level that bordered on being comfortable, at least to anyone sitting low and on the heated floor, up against a wall like Harry was. The air wasn't quite as biting when it wasn't hitting him directly. The downside to not being miserable and having relatively decent conditions was that they allowed him to just remain seated, pondering over his conundrum, neither sending the letter nor discarding it. In his quest for comfort, he'd found door number three, aptly named it limbo, and decided to walk through it.

The warming charms should have lasted for ages given the sheer volume of how many he'd thrown out, but they required recasting every now and again; the confirmation of a curse on the owlery was both validating and annoying. The entirety of the Owlery might as well have been drawn up from the frozen lair of hell given how frigid it was. The original architect, the one who cursed it, or whoever was to blame for the miserable conditions must have been reading about Cocytus and decided to use it as a source of inspiration when constructing the owl's home. Harry chose to ignore the fact that that The Divine Comedy wasn't written until the 14th century and yet Hogwarts was clearly older, he was more focused on literally every other aspect of his life than the details surrounding the pervasive condition of the Owlery. At least the owls themselves seemed to not give a fuck about the temperature either way. Not a single one of them had reacted to the vast differences in the changes to the climate that impacted their home. Lucky bastards.

Harry didn't have even the faintest idea of how much time had passed in the bird's den before he heard a pair of footsteps ascending the tower's stairs. Vaguely curious about who he was about to encounter, another smoke had found its way into his lips. A faint wisp of acrid air trailed off the end of the little cylinder as the melancholy teen rotated his head to look at the newcomer.

"Speak of the devil and he doth appear," Harry murmured, somewhat shocked to see Professor Flitwick in the flesh after recalling his lesson just a few… minutes or hours prior, he wasn't entirely sure which.

"Mister… Evans? I must say, I did not expect to see you up here, nor did I expect to hear you calling me a devil," the professor's words seemed more curious than anything, which Harry appreciated greatly.

"Sorry, Professor, I didn't mean anything by it, I only said it because I was thinking about your lesson just…" Harry trailed off for a brief second before collecting himself. "I was thinking about your lesson earlier, and I was also thinking about concepts related to hell. So, I thought it was just an odd coincidence to see you up here, hence the phrase."

Professor Flitwick chortled, as merry and cheerful as he always was. "No need to apologize, Mister Evans, that is a rather serendipitous occurrence." He raised one arm aloft and almost immediately a slim, mottled brown owl swooped down onto the cloth covered appendage. "If you don't mind my asking, which lesson were you thinking about?"

"Tuesday's lesson, sir, specifically when we covered warming charms."

"Aha, I should have guessed given how liberally you've applied them up here," the short man winked at Harry as he passed his letter to the owl. "They are all expertly cast, by the way. Five points to Gryffindor."

While not a humble person by nature, the compliment from one of the world's foremost Charms masters made Harry rub the back of his head, almost bashful at the praise but not quite crossing that threshold. "Thanks, sir," he said, meeting his professor's eyes with a grin in place. The points were a nice thought, but as a student of Gryffindor House, he couldn't care less about them if he tried.

"I can only presume that you plan to try your hand at using this charm on organic matter next, yes?" Professor Flitwick seemed genuinely curious, and his tone was utterly devoid of disapproval.

Harry nodded his head, there was no purpose in lying when practicing spell work wasn't against school rules. "Yeah, I was going to put some time in tomorrow, most likely."

"I see, I see. Well, if there was any first-year I believed ready for such spell-work it would be yourself, Mister Evans. However, if I may offer some advice…" He barely waited for Harry's immediate and emphatic 'please do' before continuing. "Before you cast the spell on yourself or any living creature, practice on water. While still inorganic, from a chemical standpoint, there is a remarkable amount of water within humans; plus, you can judge the effectiveness of the warming charm by easily testing the water's temperature. Warming charms and heating charms are a bit different in intent, so the water shouldn't heat up too much, but you can use it as a gauge."

Harry thought it was an ingenious piece of advice, but the explanation confused him. "Does the chemical structure impact a charm's efficacy, Professor? I know transfiguration is greatly affected depending on the base material or state of matter, is the same true of charms?" None of the books on charms that Harry had read had made mention of such concepts, but for all he knew, it was just very high level and thus not relevant to a first-year of his level.

Professor Flitwick seemed ecstatic at the question and almost began to bounce animatedly. "Excellent question, Mister Evans! And the answer is yes, but only on occasion, and not to a great degree. As you might imagine, it depends on the base material. For example, the warming charm when applied to a rock versus a human. I didn't just recommend you avoid practicing it just yet because of the side-effects, but also because the spell will take differently to living creatures and their complex structure. Doubly so if they're a magical creature since the innate magic of the creature will interact with the charm!"

"But it's not exclusively a difference of organic vs inorganic, correct?" Harry clarified, having removed a quill and notebook from his bag to jot down a few quick notes.

"Correct, that was just one example of many. Certain charms could also take differently to differing types of rock, though the discrepancies would be far more subtle, again, magical properties aside."

Another question popped into Harry's mind. Magic was just too damn interesting. "How come this isn't covered in the first-year curriculum?"

"Simple, Mister Evans," Flitwick answered, a sage smile in place, "because while a charm's efficacy can be affected, by in large the charm will still be applied. Contrast this with transfiguration where, if the materials involved aren't considered, the spell would simply not work at best, or at worst, it could result in dire effects."

"So, having us wait to cast warming charms on people was more about not wanting to give Madam Pomfrey extra work rather than any complex magical theory?" Harry couldn't help but laugh even as he finished his query.

"I would be lying if I said that line of thought had not crossed my mind," Professor Flitwick agreed, joining in on the laughter. "There are many complexities to casting charms that you will learn more about in later years, including efficacy based on material, but I would say that most of them are of comparatively little consequence until you get to enchanting. With enchanting, the minute differences are of utter importance."

"Huh, thanks for sharing, Professor, it was interesting."

"My pleasure, Mister Evans. I am first and foremost an educator, after all. A title I would not have if I did not love the role." Professor Flitwick was about to make his exit when he stopped, turning back to look at his student with a discerning look. "I apologize if I am overstepping, Mister Evans, but I would be remiss if I did not ask… Why are you sitting up here all by your lonesome?"

The words to politely shut down the professor's inquiry were on the tip of Harry's tongue, ready to be thrown out into the world when he stopped. Professor Flitwick was, presumably, as neutral of a party as he could find in Hogwarts without consulting random students. A teacher from a different House, a House that neither his parents nor godmother were a part of either. There wasn't any harm in sharing with the man since he'd asked.

Harry lazily held the letter up in the air, having removed it from his bag before placing it within his usual black sheepskin coat with gray fur, he was very glad that Hogwarts did not force students to wear their uniforms unless attending classes. Even though it was only Wednesday, Harry had finished his classes in the early afternoon and promptly changed into an outfit he was more comfortable in. The uniform wasn't unbearable once he ditched the tie and unbuttoned some of the odd buttons here and there, but it still wasn't his favorite way to dress.

"I'm just up here debating if I actually want to send this, Professor," Harry said, taking a small drag immediately thereafter. No one of authority had questioned his bad habits since he entered the school despite not trying to hide it, so he wasn't about to let the smoke go to waste just because he was talking to a professor.

Flitwick looked curious but with a hint of concern at the disheveled teen. "I see, and would you mind sharing who that letter is for?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, Harry mused, no point in stopping now. "It's a letter for Alice Longbottom, sir."

Understanding passed over Flitwick's features. "Ah, in that case far be it of me to pry any further, I apologize if my queries were rude or presumptuous."

Harry wasn't offended by the man's questions given that they were respectful in nature, but his reaction to the letter's would-be recipient was another matter entirely. "Are you aware of my familial situation, Professor?" Harry asked, and though he tried to keep it out, a slight edge had entered his voice.

Rather than getting upset that a student would take such a tone, Flitwick seemed, if anything, more sympathetic. "Not of any of the details, Mister Evans, however, it is public knowledge that the Longbottoms raised your brother while you grew up in the muggle world. From there, combined with your melancholy over the letter, it is rather easy to infer that there are some personal issues between yourself and Mrs. Longbottom."

Harry snorted at the Professor's phrasing but it quickly turned into a resigned chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you could say that… nice deduction."

"You were not trying to keep it a secret," Flitwick countered lightly.

The young teen didn't really know how to reply to that. On some level he must have wanted to share more because the professor was right, he was practically wearing his issues on his sleeve. Harry thought he was cagey about his emotions, but clearly that was just self-delusion. Fuck it. "What do you think, Professor? Should I send it?"

Flitwick considered Harry for a moment before drawing his wand, in the blink of an eye he'd cast warming charms at both of them, thrown a cushioning charm where Harry sat – he'd still yet to look those up – and conjured himself a small, cushioned chair. "Well, I couldn't possibly answer that for you. Even if I had all the necessary context, which I do not, then I would still not be able to make that determination as I am not you. The question, Mister Evans, is do you want to send the letter?" The stress he placed on certain words cut straight to the heart of the matter.

Harry sighed and let his head fall back against the magically softened stone. "That's the problem, I do, and I don't."

"Why, and why not?" Flitwick did not hesitate to ask the simple but probing question. Or questions, in this case.

"It's complicated…" Harry said, knowing full and well that it wasn't that complicated, he was just emotional and not thinking clearly.

"Let us look at it this way then," Flitwick began, gesturing toward the letter. "Why did you write it in the first place?"

A few seconds of silence passed before Harry shrugged, he couldn't think of a reason not to share the broader contents. "I asked for some tips on dueling and magical combat in general."

Flitwick's mustache quirked upwards as he smiled. "Both of the Longbottoms are very well respected aurors, it makes sense why you would think to ask them for advice."

"I know, and I bet they wouldn't mind offering some, it's just…"

"Just what?" Flitwick gently encouraged.

Harry stilled, finally realizing exactly why he was so reluctant to send the damn letter. "I don't want to have to ask them for help," he murmured quietly, barely even heeding the fact that he was still talking to Flitwick, whom he had never even spoken to outside of classes until this moment. "I never needed Alice's help before. Never."

"And now?"

"I still don't need it!" Harry stated, his voice not rising in the slightest, but it was noticeably colder. "I've done just fine without her so far! Alice hasn't helped at all! I don't need her help, but…" He trailed off, looking askance in frustration as he stuck his smoke back in his mouth.

"But now, you find yourself in a situation where you want her help, and it galls you to have to ask for it from someone whom you've never relied on before." Flitwick recapped Harry's thought processes and emotional turmoil almost perfectly.

"Something like that," Harry muttered. Turns out it's a pride thing after all. Fuck.

Flitwick smiled genially and then rose from his chair, wordlessly vanishing it from existence. "Well, Mister Evans, I have full confidence you will make the right decision for you."

"That is supremely unhelpful advice, sir," Harry joked, a bit surprised that the professor was leaving without offering more sage wisdom.

Flitwick chuckled as he turned to make his exit. "I don't think you need advice right now; I believe you need to make a choice about the type of man you're going to be, but something tells me you were already aware of the difference." With that final parting comment, the Head of Ravenclaw winked at the young Gryffindor and walked down the stairs.

Harry ruminated on the professor's words for quite a long time, and he actually kept track that time. Over half a dozen students had made the frigid trek up the tower to send letters or parcels, all of them happily pausing when they noticed the ambient temperature change, and all of them also casting questioning looks at the strange first-year just sitting against the wall. A few individuals even asked Harry if he was okay, to which he assured them that he was before falling back into contemplative silence.

"What kind of man do I want to be?" Harry repeated once he was alone once more, rolling the galleon he'd received on his first visit to Diagon Alley in between his fingers.

In spite of the fact that Harry knew he was probably needlessly overthinking things, he couldn't help but ruminate on Flitwick's final comment. The simple question gained more weight and complexity with each passing moment of contemplation – it wasn't an easy query to answer because as much as some insisted otherwise, the world wasn't a black and white place. Harry knew he'd already done a lot of bad things in his life, but he knew he'd done a fair share of good stuff as well. Good, bad, or even the neutral answer he'd given Tom months prior were all blanket statements with no real meaning – a child's conception of objective morality. People were just people. Some did good things one day and bad the next. There was no singular trait by which to define anyone, let alone a 16-year-old guy in his first bloody year of Hogwarts. Harry didn't have to decide the entire direction of his life right then and there, he could change his mind down the road regardless of whether he sent the damn letter… Despite that ounce of logic that had wormed its way into his brain, he couldn't shake the idea that his choice would establish some manner of precedent, even if just to himself. Not something immutable or set in stone, but still a decision on which future ones would all inevitably be based upon. Ultimately, it was just a matter of whether he wanted to keep Alice at arm's length as he had, or whether he wanted her to be a part of his life?

Another question came to Harry courtesy of his rarely used but no less effective conscience, that traitorous part of him that only reared its head on rare occasion. Do you really want to hold a grudge against her for the rest of your life because she made a mistake 15 years ago? Harry scoffed at his own mental phrasing, an objectively gross minimization of what had actually happened. The act of separating twin brothers after the death of their parents and only informing one of said twins of their heritage and native culture could not simply be glossed over as a nothing but a mistake, even within the confines of his own mind.

The more important aspect was the simple question of whether he wanted to hold a grudge? Did he want to keep ignoring her letters, put on a smile in public, pretend he didn't hold a grudge, and act cordially for the sake of Daniel? Or did he want to take that first real step toward burying the hatchet? Fucking hell, I almost agonized this much over whether or not to even meet the woman… Harry mused, though, that just went to show the value he placed on actually asking Alice for help.

Harry had thought of himself as essentially a loner for as long as he could remember. He had friends but no one he could share everything with. He'd had his foster family, but he didn't think they truly understood him, even when he had tried to explain how his mind and heart had worked. There was always an unspoken gap between him and those around him that he'd never been able to breach... Now, he had someone actually trying to bridge that chasm, and he was passive in the face of it? If he wanted to, all he had to do was extend a hand, show that it wasn't just a one-sided effort, and not resist the bond that might form. But did he even want to? Was it just about him?

"Fuck me, I'm going to regret this," Harry murmured before raising his arm upwards in the exact same way he'd seen the other visitors to the Owlery do in order to send a letter. A small tawny owl swept down from the rafters to land on his cloth-covered, outstretched limb. The bird's talons gripped his arm rather tightly, but it never came anywhere close to wounding him. "Deliver this to Alice Longbottom." The magic of messenger owls was as much a mystery to Harry as it was to others despite his ability to sense magic, but like everyone else he knew that you had to inform the owl of who the recipient was some way or another.

The owl blinked at Harry and then was off, soaring away into the distance. A small part of him hoped that somehow the bird would lose its way and be unable to deliver the letter, but it was a foolish hope. Every single witch and wizard in Europe relied on magical owls to send messages, and they would not do so if owls were not both a fast and reliable method of communication. In less than 12 hours, that letter would be delivered to Alice no matter what he did.

"Hope you're happy, Daniel," Harry bit out, clicking his tongue because he knew his little brother would be. Guy was a bloody Hufflepuff in disguise and he didn't even try to hide it. "Bleeding heart little shit."

Harry would never tell him as much, but his brother was pretty much the only fucking reason he was putting forth any effort when it came to his relationship with Alice. How could he not try when his only brother practically implored him to do so? Not that Daniel was so self-centered as to actually beg him to play nice with the Longbottoms, but Harry could see the unspoken desire clear as day. Who wouldn't want to see their only living, non-incarcerated family members get along? It was such a wholesome wish that he couldn't shit on it completely, not even as the cynical older brother who was wont to do so.

Lost in his own melancholy, Harry did not have any specific destination in mind after descending from the Owlery. All he knew was that he didn't want to go to the common room. Another hour or two and maybe he'd be able to face Daniel's happy face, or maybe Ron's conflicted one when they saw he'd sent the goddamn letter; but until then, he'd rather just walk through the corridors of Hogwarts and see what he could find.

Harry had already decided to follow Tom's advice on a few occasions so far during his stay at the aged castle, but not as frequently as he might have initially hoped. While it was quite enjoyable walking the halls and searching for hidden rooms, doors, and secret passageways, it also took time. The first month of classes wasn't difficult to get through, but it was an entirely new experience to Harry. Not only was he still brand new to the concept of studying magic, but he was in a new place, surrounded by new people, trying to adjust to his new reality. As much as he wanted to explore, he couldn't very well ignore his classwork or disregard the idea of a social life to do so. Hogwarts would still be ripe for exploring even if he failed to devote every waking moment to wandering around.

Finding interesting magic throughout the castle was one of Harry's goals, but ever since he met with Draco, he realized it wasn't his most pressing, immediate goal. Harry wanted a cool room of his own; a place in the castle that was hidden from others, a place that only he and his friends would know how to access. There was little doubt in his mind that someone had told Draco about the existence of the chamber that he'd made his own, but given that his personal status as a sensor, Harry thought he might be able to actually find one by himself.

Trying to sense in Hogwarts was simultaneously the easiest thing in the world as well as an exercise in futility. Magic. Was. Everywhere. The presence of the arcane was so ubiquitous that Harry could feel it literally every moment of every single day. Unlike in Diagon Alley where he had to focus to find various sources of magic, in Hogwarts, it just was. Like every other sense, it didn't turn off. He didn't have to focus, it was a natural byproduct of his being. This had allowed him to get very comfortable, very quickly with using his new sense in a broad manner, conversely making any effort to delve deeper into a given magic that much more difficult.

Harry had tried to explain it to Ron using another analogy, likening it to the idea of trying to identify a single scent in a busy kitchen. In a busy kitchen there are so many different things being cooked, so many raw ingredients and spices at play, that identifying any singular one was that much more difficult. Not impossible by any means, but still a complicated task if you didn't already know what was being prepared, or in Harry's case, what magic had been used. Harry had no trouble sensing a transfiguration spell when it was cast around him because it was both familiar and he could feel it taking place; but if he were asked to walk around the castle and find the lone item that had been transfigured it would be a far more arduous endeavor.

Trying to find a secret room for his own use was going to be a herculean task, that much was undeniable, but Harry was absolutely determined to make it happen. He loved hanging out in the common room, he loved his dorm room, but he wasn't going to be satisfied until he had a place that others didn't even know existed.

Harry had taken up the habit of walking through Hogwarts with his fingers idly trailing over the walls. The book on Sensors that he'd purchased from Ollivander had mentioned that there was a great degree of variance in how individuals could sense magic, and one of the variations that Harry had found worked for him was that touching an object allowed him to discern any potential magic within with far more ease. Hogwarts was gargantuan in scope, so Harry doubted that his method would yield results quickly, but he could at least assure himself that he was looking.

Abruptly, Harry stopped, his breath catching in his throat as his hand stilled over the stone. Never had he felt such life from magic, but likewise it had never felt so wrong. It was a horrific, yet beautiful paradox interwoven together. Utterly pure and genuine whilst also being an abomination against nature. By all rights it should not exist, but to destroy it would be a crime. Harry recoiled, wrenching his hand away from the stone as if burned. He took a few steps back and gazed at the wall, utterly unsurprised when a ghost materialized out of it.

"Well now, I've had many reactions to men grazing their fingers over my chest, but none so odd as yours, my friend," the speaker purred. The ghost was of average height with a lean build; dressed in tight breaches, a loosely threaded shirt, thick cuffed boots, and an extravagant short robe on which innumerable designs, shapes, and emblems had been stitched. Their features were sharp and masculine, but even while floating the way they carried themselves had a distinctly feminine edge. "It's fine if you're not into me, but you needn't act disgusted at the mere thought." They winked at Harry, clearly having him on.

"Sorry…" Harry said, trailing off as he stared at nothing, still distracted by what the ghostly being had felt like. Do all souls feel like that?

"Oh, relax, darling, I'm only teasing you," the ghost laughed lightly, but it carried absolutely no ill will. "I know that touching ghosts isn't that pleasant to the living. We're cold, a bit unnatural, nothing like we were when alive," they huffed dramatically and leaned against the wall. "My skin used to be so soft and warm too…"

Harry started speaking without even consciously realizing it. "It wasn't cold… it…" He raised his eyes to look at the ghost. "How do you exist?"

The ghost looked confused for a moment but then understanding dawned in their eyes. They crossed their arms over their chest, one hand rising to tap a single finger against their lips. "Oh, I see… you're a bit different, aren't you, hon'?"

"The magic keeping you here… it shouldn't be possible!" Harry stressed, looking at the ghost with wide eyes that bordered on fearful.

"And yet, here I am," the ghost said, bowing in front the shell-shocked teen. "Caelyn Tealeaf, at your service."

"Caelyn," Harry began, speaking slowly but forcefully, "how are you still here?"

The ghost cocked their head to the side and mimicked stepping closer to Harry, though their body remained hovering over the surface of the stone floor. Only an inch separated the boy and the ghost, the fae being forced to look up to maintain eye contact. "You're asking questions I cannot answer, my little Gryffindor."

Harry refused to look away. "Cannot, or will not?"

Caelyn floated backward and reached forward as if they were going to tap Harry on the nose, the spectral limb stopping only a hairsbreadth away from his skin. "Use your imagination," they said slyly, winking at him as their spectral body began to fade.

"I'm going to find out the answer, Caelyn" Harry declared at them as they slowly vanished from his sight.

"I hope you do, dear, I really hope you do."

Their parting words chilled him, though he could not say why.

Harry knew that ghosts were actually the souls of dead individuals that remained tied to the world, not just imprints left behind. Every magical that had studied ghosts agreed on that point, but no one was quite sure how they remained on the mortal plane. There wasn't a ritual conducted to keep them tethered to the earth; there seemingly wasn't any reason for them not to pass on. Magic that dealt with the soul was an entire field unto itself. Not inherently dark, but there was an undeniable weight to such magic. The entire subject was extraordinarily complex, far beyond the capabilities of most wizards or witches to ever dip their toe into, let alone delve in completely and truly comprehend.

Whatever magic was at play to keep ghosts from passing on was beyond Harry, but he could feel that it was wrong. There was no other way to describe it. The soul was pure in every sense of the word, Caelyn Tealeaf was pure, but the soul remaining past the body's passing was wrong. Harry was loathe to call it dark in nature given his unfamiliarity with such magic, plus, it certainly didn't feel malicious or evil in the same way as the Aswang wand he'd held in Ollivander's shop… but even that wand hadn't carried the same uncanny effect as what he had felt from the ghost. The Aswang was evil, but the ghost should not exist.

"Just another thing to research," Harry said quietly, mentally adding ghosts and souls to his very, very long list of magical subjects to investigate.

Magic kept finding new ways to shatter his expectations. The more he learned the more he was convinced that magic was only limited by one's imagination. A thought that, if true, was as equally incredible as it was terrifying.

OoooOoooO

"What do you want?"

"I… I wanted to apologize."

"Why?"

"Because as much as I hate to admit it, Malfoy was right. I fucked up on the train. I should have never left you alone."

"Wasn't your job to watch me. Wasn't anybody's. You've got nothing to apologize for."

"You may not want our help, Theo, but we promised your sister we would."

"Then apologize to her, not to me."

"I already did."

"Then that's that."

"It's not, but you won't acknowledge it either way, so I guess we can move on…"

"You have something else you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah."

"Of course, you do. You're never this fucking awkward unless you have serious shit to discuss."

"It's about Malfoy."

"What about him?"

"He's a cunt."

"So are you. So am I. What's your point?"

"It's different with him."

"Doubt it."

"It is, Theo. No one else keeps blackmail material on everyone they meet, including their so called 'friends.'"

"He doesn't use it unless you give him a reason to."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

"Doesn't it? I know how to kill you. I don't because you're my friend, because you haven't given me reason to. It's the same thing."

"It's not the same thing. The magic you know… yeah, it's fucked up, but it's also just knowledge. You didn't acquire it specifically to deal with friends in case they piss you off. That intent matters and you know it."

"Then don't piss him off."

"You shouldn't have to tiptoe around your friends, Theo!"

"I don't."

"Maybe you don't, but everyone else does."

"And you didn't even consider the reason why I don't have to? Use your fucking brain, Blaise."

"Malfoy likes you more than everyone else, that's the merlin-be-damned reason."

"Playing the idiot because he stepped all over your pride doesn't suit you."

"Watch it, Theo!"

"No. Open your eyes, Blaise. Forget everything you think you know about Drake and start over. You're trying to have an enemy when you don't need one. You'll lose."

"You don't think I can beat Malfoy?"

"I know you can't. Neither can I."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be? He's my friend."

"That doesn't mean he won't screw you over the moment it suits him."

"If you knew Drake, you'd know that's not true."

OoooOoooO

"Why do we have to get all dressed up? I thought you said there was no dress code?" For the second time in as many minutes, Ron was bitching about Harry's recommended wardrobe for the evening. An odd change of pace since it was usually Harry that was doing the bitching, which he would if his planned outfit was in anyway considered formal attire.

"There isn't a dress code, but we still want to look at least fairly nice," Harry said as he did a half twirl in front of the mirror. Given the hour and relative temperature, he'd decided to go with a darker pair of jeans, a simple black shirt, and his sheepskin coat. "And I'm telling you, if you wear the jumper that your mum knit, you're going to stand out."

"It's a quality jumper!"

Harry wasn't about to deny that. Hell, he kind of wanted one for himself. "I agree, but that still doesn't mean you should wear it tonight. Throw on that shirt and that vest, trust me."

The red head grumbled but followed Harry's advice without further protest. The two of them still had a bit of time before they were set to meet Daniel and Neville in the common room to head to Draco Malfoy's little party under the moonlight.

Earlier that day, a small note had found its way into Harry's pocket. He hadn't seen where it came from nor even when it was placed there, but it had a location, general guidelines to reach said location, as well as a specific time in which they should leave their common room in order to avoid Filch or anyone else wondering the halls of Hogwarts that late in the evening. Daniel had apparently received the same notice. Harry was once again genuinely impressed by the Malfoy scion. The level of planning he'd put into this evening went well beyond what he'd expected. To have different routes to the location starting from the respective common rooms meant that Malfoy had not only acquired accurate information as to where each common room was but had even gotten his hands on a patrol schedule for those sections of the corridors.

"Alright, how do I look?"

Harry stepped away to brush his teeth and throw a breath freshening charm at himself but paused to look over his shoulder. "A right sight better than you did before, that's for sure," Harry laughed before appraising his friend. "I'd say pull the sleeves up a bit, swap out the belt, and you're good to go."

The two of them finished getting ready with only the sound of the wireless in the background. Harry was rather enjoying a cover of Depeche Mode's single, "Stripped", once again offering a mental thanks to all the half-bloods and muggle-borns that chose to ignore muggle copyrights, when Ron interjected with a somewhat awkward cough.

"So, I know it probably doesn't mean much to you, but I, um," Ron paused and rubbed the back of his neck, "I wanted to say thanks."

"What for?" Harry asked, looking himself over in the mirror post-shave to check for any razor burn. A force of habit more than anything. The enchanted razor he'd bought in Diagon Alley hadn't failed him yet. Still, it was in the back of his mind to look up some charms to help with shaving in case the enchantments ever started to fail, a likelihood given the relative simplicity of the item combined with the lack of runes.

"Inviting me to come with you tonight, covering the cost of my buy-in for the game. I would never receive an invite on my own, and even if I did, I would never be able to afford it… so, thanks."

In a rare moment of consideration, Harry chose not to tease or make fun of Ron for his heartfelt thanks. The youngest Weasley son was still grappling with lingering insecurities over his family's financial status, so Harry knew that it had to have been hard for him to drop the joking atmosphere they usually maintained whenever the topic of money was brought up, and instead offer his genuine appreciation. Ron was right though because Harry didn't care about what it was costing him at all. Three galleons were a drop in the bucket compared to what he had at his disposal, even less when you considered the passive income he was generating from interest. Having his best mate along for the evening was more than worth the cost he'd pay to get him into the event.

"Anytime, mate," Harry said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "Night wouldn't have been as fun without you."

The two friends once again fell into an easy silence waiting on the hour of their departure to arrive. Harry decided to read one of the books he'd checked out from the library on magical combat. The book was written by a woman named Tatiana Degtyaryov, a Russian magical soldier before and after the war with Grindelwald in the early-mid 1900s. She was undeniably brilliant, but her approach to combat was decidedly different than many others. Common practice was to block the majority of enemy spells with a variety of shield spells. Whether it be the whole-body protection spell Protego, or the easier to cast but more difficult to employ variation, Averto, it was a simple fact that most people utilized shield spells more often than not. Tatiana Degtyaryov, on the other hand, preferred a style more centralized on dodging, with various charms and enchanted items complimenting her ability to physically remove herself out of the way of spells in order to have a more offensive style. Neither method was objectively superior to the other, but from a theoretical perspective, Harry's preferences were more in line with the famous Russian soldier, tactician, and later author. He was very curious to see which style the Longbottom's preferred to use for themselves.

The scratching of Ron's quill in his notebook and the sound of the wireless was interrupted by a loud groan from the red headed teen. "Which subject has frustrated you this time?" Harry asked, amused at what had already become a constant dynamic between them.

"Herbology and its four-hundred-thousand plants no one bloody well cares about! Honestly, I don't know how Neville can actually enjoy this shite."

Harry actually shared his friend's sentiment on Herbology. Both of them were well aware that the various plants had their uses, but that didn't mean they actually enjoyed having to take care of them, or even worse, write essays on how to take care of them. They'd both finished the separate essay they had to write on Moonleaf, its principal use in restorative draughts, how chewing on the leaves could help alleviate aggression, and a whole host of other attributes it possessed; but Ron still had to write a short essay on how to actually tend to the plant itself.

"I'm with you there, mate. I know it's Sprout's subject so she's passionate, but I really wish we could just spend less time on the practical aspects."

Ron raised a nonexistent glass in Harry's direction. "Hear, hear!" He then threw down his quill and closed his notebook. "I'll finish this bloody thing tomorrow. I'm done for now."

"Don't blame you, mate," Harry responded before casting tempus. "We're close enough to the time that I think we can head downstairs though."

"Finally!" The exuberant declaration was accompanied by Ron rising from his chair and stretching his back. "Poker, drinks, food! This is going to be a fun night, Harry!"

"Assuming the company is good," Harry hedged. Malfoy's guest list likely included people that would still be fun, but there was a chance they would be boring compared to the Gryffindor enthusiasm that the two friends had embraced.

No party was currently ongoing in the Gryffindor common room, but it was still almost Eleven on a Saturday night, and that meant it was raucous to say the least. Music could be heard on every level, not loud enough to be overbearing, but still very clearly present. Scattered all around the hearth people were drinking alcohol, potions, or trying their hand at any number of odd substances. Other students were more benign in their entertainment, playing various games of both the magical and non-magical varieties. One level was entirely devoted to Quidditch and the positively brilliant adaptation to the wizarding wireless that allowed for real-time, magical projections of the matches happening around the world; though they couldn't record any footage at all, it was strictly a live feed. Harry hadn't even known of the invention his first month in Diagon Alley given that it had only been on the market since this past February, and they were exceedingly expensive on top of it; but Hogwarts apparently spared no expense when it came to entertainment. Their rickety school brooms would just have to remain rickety for a few more years, students had Quidditch to watch!

On the top level of the common room, one large set of windows was left free and clear for students to fly in and out of on brooms. The older students would usually take turns flying out of the Hogwarts grounds, apparating to muggle London, and ordering copious amounts of take-out that they would then bring back within a spatially expanded container. Pizza was apparently the most common thing to bring back, but any given weekend all manner of foods could be found in the common room. Gryffindor was not a charity though, everyone who wished to partake had to cough up their fair share of coin. Naturally, Harry had joined in every single time.

Apparently, it was an open secret that if you could find the kitchens, then the House Elves would be more than happy to provide any and all food you wanted, even catering for an entire fourth of the school. The issue, however, was that the entrance to the kitchens constantly changed. No one had ever been able to find the entrance more than once aside from the Weasley twins, but even they couldn't find it whenever they desired too. So, while always a consideration, no one in Gryffindor relied on the House Elves for their weekend plans.

The most amusing aspect of Gryffindor House in Harry's opinion was how little everyone cared for the rules. He wasn't even remotely concerned with anyone stopping him from leaving the common room even though curfew had passed because students did exactly that all the time. It was downright normal for students to lounge around in the corridors immediately around the common room. Hogwarts was too damn big for the limited patrols to catch everyone, so some Gryffindors considered it worth the risk to enjoy a bit of time away from the loud and rowdy common room. And no one would even dream of stopping them since they were already resigned to losing the House Cup anyway. Harry thought the entire culture within his House was beautiful.

While walking to the ground level where the duo had agreed to meet up with Daniel and Neville before leaving, Harry's attention was briefly stolen by a group of older students enjoying a hookah that stood at least six feet high, and all of the vapors were purple despite the scent being near identical to cannabis. "I have to know…" Harry whispered to himself, knowing his words would not reach his friend's ears, subsequently leaving said friend confused when Harry made a beeline toward the tall, Indian device and the group of students taking turns smoking from it.

The first one to notice Harry's approach was a dark-skinned guy with dreads who couldn't have been any older than fourth year. Noticing him, the older teen raised a finger in Harry's direction as a smile came to his face. "You're… you're Potter's brother, yeah? Yeah, what was your name, shit…" The guy trailed off as he snapped his fingers a few times. "Evans! That was it!"

"Right in one," Harry confirmed, reaching forward to clasp the guy's hand. "You've got me beat though?"

"Lee Jordan, my man," the now named Lee said, leaning up from his place on the couch to meet Harry's hand halfway. "Fred and George mentioned you, said you were friends with… Hey! There he is! Little Weasley! How's it going, man?"

Unnoticed by Harry, Ron had followed behind him, a smile in place. "I'm doing alright, Lee. Merlin, how baked are you?"

"Not as much as I want to be, probably more than I should," Lee laughed as the hose was passed back to him and he took another hit. "Merlin, I love this stuff."

Harry seized upon the opportunity with an eagerness he could not hide. "I came over here to ask you about that. I've smoked weed before, but it's never been purple. What is that?"

A knowing smile came over Lee's face as he passed the hose along to the cute girl to his left. "This, my new friend, is a specialty mixture between a magical strain of Northern Lights, and yes, magical strains of cannabis exist," Lee must have noticed that Harry's eyes had lit up in pure joy, "mixed with a bit of this crazy ass drug called Purpura."

Harry didn't consider himself a student of Latin, but you couldn't be a magical in Europe without picking up on at least some of the language. "Doesn't that just translate to purple?"

Lee once again snapped his fingers and pointed at Harry in a single motion. "Damn right it does. No one knows anything about it beyond the fact that if you smoke it on its own, you're asking for some absolutely crazy shit to go down. But, if you cut a bit of it into some Northern Lights, then it's just the recipe for a good time."

"How crazy is crazy?" Ron asked.

Lee didn't get the chance to answer before Ron and Harry alike were flanked by a familiar pair of tall, red-haired twins. "'How crazy is crazy,' he asks," one of the twins, Harry was not about to guess which, began speaking from his right. "Crazy as in one guy in Ravenclaw took the stuff last year, got higher than the astronomy tower and half of his body was invisible for almost a week."

The other twin immediately picked up once the other finished. "Or the girl in Hufflepuff who was speaking in tongues for two days straight."

"Don't forget the girl that swore she had two simultaneous consciousnesses running for a few hours." Their alternating method of speaking continued.

"Nor the poor bloke who said his legs were too heavy to lift for the better part of a week despite everyone else lifting them with no issue at all.

"And no one can guess what any given hit will do."

"Crazy. Shit," Lee capped off their rapid list of anecdotes with a shit eating grin.

Harry was beyond intrigued by this drug, but even he wasn't stupid enough to try a drug that could cause him a lot of potentially irrevocable harm. "And no one's died?"

"That's just it, Harrykins," the twin next to Ron said, moving to claim a seat on the couch near Lee, "not a single soul has overdosed, passed away-"

"Or suffered long term damage from the odd effects," the other twin finished before finding a seat of their own.

"George is right," Lee piped up again, though how he could tell the difference between the two twins was absolutely beyond Harry's understanding. "There was actually this huge investigation into it because its effects were so damn noticeable. M-sec's narcotics division studied the shit out of it, trying to figure out what it was, how it was made, the whole works."

"And it's actually safe?" Harry asked, somewhat amazed that it drew the attention of law enforcement but was still a legal substance.

George snickered as he shrugged. "Safe is a strong word, but-"

"It at least isn't dangerous enough to be illegal," Fred continued for his twin. "If it was evaluated as being too dangerous it would be labeled as a protected substance-"

"And then M-sec wouldn't hold back with cracking down on it." The twins were seamlessly picking up where the offer left off when speaking. The level of synchronicity between them was downright fascinating but the more Harry paid attention, it was a bit eerie as well. It was like seeing two bodies connected via the same brain.

Ron then leaned in and said in a hushed tone, "wait, have you two tried it?"

Fred winked at his little brother conspiratorially. "Haven't tried it ourselves just yet-"

"But you might say we're a bit curious," George said, smirking widely.

"Trying to get some of it straight isn't hard, but it bloody well isn't easy either," Lee said, tapping a finger to his nose. "You've got to know the right people if you want be sure it's the real stuff."

"Ahhh," Harry understood the dilemma. "No one knows where its manufactured nor by whom, so the dealers are limited in number, right?"

"Ding ding ding, give the firstie a prize," Fred laughed, falling back into the cushions, and then taking a drink of a clear liquid that Harry was willing to bet was not water.

George gestured between the two friends and raised an eyebrow. "Where are you two chaps off to this evening?"

"Midnight rendezvous with a pair of lovely ladies from another House?" Fred teased.

"A moonlit tryst with some nymphs in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Underground dueling circuit?"

"New initiates in a vampire cult?"

Harry was genuinely impressed by how many alternative ideas the two twins were able to come up with on the fly.

"None of the above, gits," Ron interjected before the two could rattle off anymore admittedly interesting ideas. "We're off to play some poker with some people from other Houses."

Fred and George shared a look that hinted at hidden knowledge and a smirk that screamed amusement. "Poker?" George voiced, a questioning lilt accompanying the single word. "Did he just say poker?"

"By George, I think he did."

"Knowing you, Ron, we should have known." George's damnable smirk was still in place so it was hard to tell, but Harry would swear his knowing tone spoke to a not-so-hidden secret involving Ron and the popular gambling game.

"Hey, Harry is the one that invited me," Ron defended himself.

"Wise move, Harry," Fred said, nodding approvingly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron in question. "You good at the game or something?"

"I'm pretty decent, I guess." Ron rubbed the back of his head as if he were being bashful, but his confident smile was far more telling.

"'Pretty decent,' he says," George scoffed.

"And Bill is pretty decent at runes."

"And Charlie is pretty decent with dragons."

"And Percy is pretty decent at being a prat."

"Come off it," Ron interjected. "I'm really not that good…"

Even Lee seemed to find Ron's statement a gross misrepresentation if the wry look he was sending his way was anything to judge by.

"Which is it, Ron?" Harry asked his friend, suddenly far more excited at the prospect of how the gambling that evening would go.

"Just wait, Harrykins, watch our little brother play and then you'll see," George told him, chuckling as he reached over to claim his drink from a nearby shelf, wand in hand to presumably check to see if it'd been fucked with.

"'Pretty decent,'" Fred scoffed, repeating the statement again, somehow with even more sarcasm than his twin.

Harry slung an arm around Ron's shoulder and began to turn him away. "Speaking of, though, we don't want to be late. Long walk, have to make sure we dodge Filch, you understand."

"That we do," the twins chorused together. "Have fun." There was an air of mischievousness to their parting comments, but that was most likely just the twins being the twins rather than some sort of forewarning.

A series of farewells from Lee and the red-headed duo followed the two friends as they made their exit. Harry was about to suggest they locate Neville and Daniel, but they were both already in place and had seen them coming.

"Hope we didn't make you wait long," Harry greeted them cheerfully; he was in such a good mood he even spared Nev his usual quips.

Neville shook his head as Daniel spoke up. "You're good, we haven't been waiting long. Besides, we have a few minutes before we're supposed to leave anyway… assuming we should follow the exact timeline given to us by bloody Malfoy, of course."

Harry and Ron both audibly groaned. "Not again," Ron muttered.

"You're not seriously still going on about this being a set-up, are you?" Harry practically pleaded with his twin.

"Seriously? Not really, no. I just think it's something worth bearing in mind."

The sheer amount of anti-Slytherin bias his brother harbored was bloody ridiculous to Harry. The Sorting Hat was a pretty damn impressive magical artifact, sure, but allowing it to be the sole arbiter of someone's character was too much. "If Malfoy has gone through this much set-up just to get us in trouble, then he's bloody well earned it as far as I'm concerned," Harry grumbled, eyeing Neville. "Are you on the conspiracy train too?"

"Not really, no," Neville declared, surprising everyone in the group. "Not this time, at least. I do think Malfoy is a 'slimy git', as Ron put it the other night, I kind of hate his guts, and I think he has ulterior motives for inviting us, but I doubt he's just going to all of this effort just to snitch us out to Filch."

"Thank christ for small mercies," Harry mumbled, doing little to hide his annoyance toward his brother's nervousness.

Daniel wasn't a stick in the mud by any stretch of the imagination, but he definitely had some peculiarities when it came to what he would and would not do. The guy would dive towards the ground on a broom without so much as blinking; but ask him to go to a party with some Slytherins and suddenly he'd get cagey. Bloody annoying is what it was… though at the end of the day, there was nothing else to do but chalk it up as Daniel being Daniel.

Upon exiting their common room, the quartet decided to go ahead and start following the wonderfully specific directions that had been provided to them. The twisting corridors of Hogwarts became fairly familiar to navigate after living in them for so long, but few would ever describe them as easy. Even with a step-by-step guide that included various identifiers to ensure they were on the right path, it was still a convoluted set of turns, twists, staircases, and secret passageways to follow. Harry had reviewed the written guide multiple times already in order to try and ascertain where in the castle they would be, but Hogwarts was tricky. The idea of floors, wings, and cardinal directions could only go so far when the castle shifted, moved, and did its damnedest to not make sense.

"Alright, so, step three is to make a right up here and then follow this corridor past the Defense classroom until we reach a wooden door that's supposed to be a broom cupboard," Neville read the directions from the slip of paper in a hushed tone.

Even while trying to be quiet, Harry found it eerie how much their voices seemed to carry and echo around them. Hogwarts was bustling with life during the day, with paintings and students alike making noise everywhere. At night the halls weren't completely silent, but there was a rather stark contrast.

"I know that cupboard," Ron assured the group. "I opened it hoping it was a bathroom but all I found was this Ravenclaw bloke about to have a nervous fit."

"What about?" Harry was curious.

"Didn't stick around to ask. Guy looked a bit mental, really."

Harry adored Ron's way with words.

"You know, if you're going to sneak around the castle after curfew, you might want to lower voices; maybe learn a few charms to help with noise." The group of first-years were brought to a standstill as they rounded the corner to see the bearer of the voice that had pierced their conversation casually leaning up against the wall. The lone individual was dressed in silver and green robes, with a shiny badge embossed with the letter "P" fastened to their lapel. Harry didn't recognize the guy, but an upper year Slytherin Prefect stumbling across a group of Gryffindor first-years was bound to make his night.

"Ah, fuck…" Harry sighed, looking up at the ceiling in annoyance. He had been way too cocky after receiving some carefully outlined instructions.

"Caught before we even got close," Ron said, shoulders slumping dejectedly. "How do Fred and George get away with this so often? We can't even make it fifteen bloody feet without getting caught."

Neville wasn't stunned into silence, but he was facepalming rather dramatically. "Should have seen this coming, honestly…"

"What's our punishment?" Daniel asked bitterly, seemingly the most pissed off in the group if his tone was any sort of judge. This was not going to help his vendetta against Slytherins in the slightest.

The finer details of the Slytherin prefect's eyes were impossible to discern given the low light, but Harry imagined they were dancing with mirth right about now. "Nothing, Potter."

Not a single one of them expected that answer.

"Wait, what?" Daniel was the most vocal in his surprise.

At that, the Slytherin snickered. "There is no punishment, Potter. Now, run along." The prefect mimed a running motion with his fingers as he shooed the group away. He was being dismissive, but there was no derision in his tone, nor even any condescension.

"You're letting us go? Just like that?" Neville asked, clearly confused himself.

"Just like that," the Slytherin responded easily.

Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ron was already turning to walk away, his hands in the air and a disbelieving smile on his face. Harry was right there alongside him. He had been impressed by Draco's set-up before, but now, it was on a whole different level.

"Why?" Daniel couldn't help but press for more answers. He seemed absolutely stunned by how these events had unfolded, putting more emphasis on that single word than Harry had ever heard from him.

The Slytherin's demeanor did not appear to be hostile at all if his tone of voice was any sort of indicator, so Harry decided that his brother's questions couldn't hurt and decided to join in with his own. "You're on his bloody pay-roll, aren't you?"

The Slytherin's gaze flicked over toward Harry. "Something like that," he answered vaguely.

"Wait, you mean Malfoy told you to let us go?" Daniel's voice rose sharply, as if he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth. His head was on swivel, looking back and forth between Harry and the prefect as he waited for an answer.

"Shhhh!" Neville shushed his adopted brother and clamped a hand over his mouth. "You're being too loud, Daniel." The Slytherin's opening remarks had hit home with him, at least.

"Commendable," the Slytherin nodded at Neville, "but at least for tonight, you don't have to worry about making noise." Despite his assurances, the prefect's words were still rather quiet.

"What about Filch? Won't he hear us?" Ron had stopped when it was clear the group wasn't moving on just yet.

"Filch has already retired to his quarters for the evening. Rumor has it that a potent sleeping draught may have found its way into his regular nightcap."

"Mrs. Norris?" Ron asked, increasingly amazed the more the Slytherin prefect spoke.

"She is currently preoccupied trying to escape a rather specific section of a corridor that has been runically warded to prevent any living creature from exiting it."

Holy fuck, they trapped the demon cat! Harry screamed internally.

Daniel's mouth was hanging open at this point. "What about the other teachers?"

"Changes to the patrol schedule are rather common and funnily enough, only prefects are on patrol tonight." Moonlight shone through one of the windows, clearly illuminating the Slytherin's satisfied smirk.

"And the paintings?" Harry asked, almost giddy as more and more of the setup for the evening was revealed. He only knew to ask about the paintings thanks to Lav, since she'd been told by an older student that there were a number of paintings that Filch had recruited in his endeavor to catch misbehaving students. Few paintings apparently went out of their way to snitch though. Most of them would just answer questions if asked but generally refrained from volunteering free information.

The Slytherin eyed Harry once more. "Those that might have caused problems have been preemptively charmed to sleep."

Harry's respect for Draco was skyrocketing the longer this conversation continued. The guy had planned and accounted for every fucking detail to ensure those he invited wouldn't get in trouble. He hadn't even bragged about his preparations either, the only reason the quartet of Gryffindors were learning so much was because they asked questions and were lucky enough to get answers. Slytherins were said to be cunning, and so far, Harry thought the reputation was bloody well deserved.

""Wicked…"" Harry and Ron said in unison, exchanging amazed glances right after they did so.

Even the Slytherin seemed fairly amused by their reaction. "If you want to know more, ask Malfoy." He once again used his hand to shoo the group away, though they actually complied this time.

"Well, thanks," Ron offered as a farewell, leading the quartet away, though he received no reply.

At first, no one in their group said a word after gaining a bit of distance from the Slytherin prefect who had remained silent in the shadows behind them. Harry was too busy contemplating the logistics of all that Draco had planned. Obviously, he hadn't discovered everything about Hogwarts and how it operated on his own, but the fact remained that in only a few short weeks the Malfoy scion had managed to find older students who were willing to share with him everything he needed to know. It wasn't an adventurous way of doing things, but goddamn was it effective. The blonde teen was downright calculating in a way that Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen from any other peers their age.

Ron was the first to break the silence. "I'm not about to start singing his praises in the Great Hall or anything, but bloody hell…"

Daniel nodded slowly. "Yeah, even I have to admit, that was bloody mental."

In a bout of childishness, Harry threw his little brother into a loose headlock. "See, what'd I tell you? Now, will you not worry so much next time?"

"I never said I wasn't going to come! Skepticism is healthy!" His voice was muffled against Harry's jacket, but the words were still audible.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said, releasing his younger twin.

"Still, how do you think he pulled it off?" Neville was the one who posed the question, but all their eyes turned towards Harry.

He was so proud they thought he would have answers. "Honestly, I could give a guess, but there are way too many potential factors at play to say for certain."

"You mentioned a pay-roll earlier?" Daniel had seemed the most surprised, so it made sense he recalled that little detail.

Harry shrugged. "That was a guess too. Malfoy could've paid that Slytherin off with gold, but he also could have done a hundred other things to secure his help. I think the fact that he organized it all is more impressive than how he got any single individual to assist him."

"I suppose there would be a lot of logistics involved with that," Neville agreed.

"They even got Filch with a sleeping potion!" Ron reminded the group. "How many people do you think that involved?"

"Who can say?" Harry was only half listening at this point, having returned to studying the written instructions to make sure they were on the right path. "Ron, you remembered that broom closet, do you remember the tapestry near it too?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Damn."

Fortunately, the written instructions were detailed enough that the four friends were able to follow it without much difficulty, even when it took them through portions of the castle none of them were familiar with. There were quite a few twists, turns, and secret entryways they had to go through, but eventually they arrived at the correct destination, or so they assumed anyway. The final entryway was hidden behind a large painting simply titled "A Lady in Green", which featured an absolutely gorgeous woman in an exceedingly risqué green dress.

The painting must have heard them coming because she was already looking at them with a sultry smile when they got close. "Password, loves?" Her voice bordered on being downright enchanting. It was hot, but specifically in a femme fatale kind of way. If she was actually alive Harry would consider her a risk to flirt with, but he'd probably do it anyway.

"Ad Victorem," Harry answered the woman. Though it was a minor detail, they'd all agreed to let him give the password since he was the one to initially receive the invitation.

"Have fun," the portrait of the gorgeous woman teased, winking at them before opening in a very similar way to the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor common room.

The sound of experimental rock music that Harry had heard hundreds of times was the first thing he noticed. "Holy fuck, is that Pink Floyd? Like, actual Pink Floyd, not a cover?" The fact that Harry couldn't quite tell was perfectly okay in his mind.

"Who's Pink Floyd?" Daniel asked, casually stepping on Harry's heart in the process.

"Why must you hurt me, Daniel? Why?" Harry held his fist over his chest and looked to the ceiling as if in anguish, but he was too eager to waste a lot of time on theatrics when the party sounded like so much fun, so he quickly pressed on and stepped inside.

Daniel followed immediately on his heels. "Are they the band that's playing? Should I know them?"

"Your musical education starts tomorrow, brother mine."

Behind the portrait was a very short stone passageway that opened onto a rectangular, second-floor balcony, overlooking a large room the likes of which Harry had not seen at Hogwarts. The entirety of the floors and walls was made out of polished black marble with gold inlay. The ceiling was like a miniature Sistine Chapel, an absolutely stunning piece of artwork clearly themed around Hogwarts itself, with various scenes reflecting different founders. Large, spiraling pillars made from the same black marble lined the perimeter of the room, pillars that the second-floor balcony was built around. Decorative, iron wrought torch sconces from which purple fire danced within provided more than enough ambient light to the room. Numerous crests and tapestries were tastefully situated around the walls, once more themed around Hogwarts itself.

On the ground floor, arranged into the shape of a pentagram, Harry saw the poker tables set up and ready for play. They were large tables, having to sit eight players apiece plus room for the dealer; they were made of a stained wooden base but with a black velvet top as opposed to the green Harry knew was standard. On one side of the floor there was a full, modern European bar that appeared to be built into the room itself. The countertop was made from what appeared to be a dark, polished stone material; Harry couldn't tell if it was more marble, onyx, or some other finished stonework. The bar was lavishly decorated with Grecian-Roman designs, featuring a lot of dark colors but with subtle elements of gold. The back wall was lined with shelves stocked full of fine wine and alcohol; a collection of booze that just screamed 'expensive.'

Harry turned his gaze back onto the second floor and saw that the balcony circled the entirety of the room. At equal intervals throughout, there were dozens of different entryways leading to stone corridors exactly akin to the one he and his friends had just walked through. It suddenly made sense to Harry why they hadn't encountered any other guests during their walk through the castle, everyone had been given a different route.

A quick estimation revealed that there had to be around fifty-sixty people in attendance between those who were either on the ground floor or watching from the balconies. If his math was correct, which it was, then it seemed that not everyone would be participating in the evening's entertainment. Harry could see that one of the tables was already full, the participants seated and with their poker chips in front of them. The large, decorative clock situated on one of the walls told them it was getting closer to midnight, so it made sense that some people were eager to play.

"Well, well, you did end up coming. I must say, I wasn't completely convinced you would," the voice of Draco Malfoy pulled the group of four from their study of the large hall.

The patrician teen was dressed in a green turtleneck worn underneath a black peacoat, complete with fitted, charcoal gray pants and matching suede shoes. Harry was once again reminded that the Slytherin teen put more effort into how he presented himself than any other person their age.

Draco had initially addressed Harry, but he then turned his eyes onto the remaining Gryffindors and nodded to them each in turn. "Potter, Longbottom, Weasley."

Each of them returned the nod and offered their own simple reply, but there was an undeniable tension in the air, even from Ron. Harry couldn't even blame his friends for their reactions. The reputation of the Malfoy family was simultaneously squeaky clean but also tarnished beyond repair, depending on who you asked, of course. The three Gryffindors had no doubt spent most of their lives hearing about how some families were inherently more evil and wicked than others. Not a good ideology to peddle towards children, but in the wake of a war that had wrought the entire nation, it was, relatively speaking, an understandable one.

Given that he wasn't the type of person to let the awkward atmosphere pass by unnecessarily, Harry decided to make things even more awkward for his companions. "Man, you all really don't get along, huh?"

He thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over Draco's features, but if it existed at all, it was gone as quickly as it had arrived. "An unfortunate reality," Draco said quietly before stepping closer to the four Gryffindors with an outstretched hand, "but I don't think it has to stay that way."

Daniel met Draco's eyes without flinching but made no immediate move to take his hand. "Water under the bridge? No hard feelings? You expect me to buy that?"

Draco smiled cordially, but on him, it might as well have been a smirk. "I would only expect you to buy if I were selling anything, Potter. This isn't a sales pitch, it's a gesture of goodwill between friends."

"We're not friends," Daniel responded coolly.

"I suppose I can't deny that, but I don't think we need to be enemies. Do you?"

There it was. Draco had said almost the exact same thing to Harry when they met in his private room. The Slytherin was desperate to make amends with the Boy-Who-Lived. Daniel may not have understood the reason why, but even he had to realize that there was a reason Draco was extending an olive branch.

"So, you invite us to your party and we just, what, ignore everything your family has ever done?" Neville's voice didn't rise in pitch, but there was venom laced in his words.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a brief moment before understanding dawned on him. He retracted his hand, but his gaze never strayed from Neville's. "You're referring to the crimes committed by my aunt and cousin, I presume?"

"You fucking know I am!"

The conversation had taken a far more serious turn than Harry had expected. He was aware of Draco's aunt and the horrible things she had done, how she was responsible for the torture and death of Neville's grandmother, but he had not realized such a topic would come up that night. A quick glance at Ron showed he was of the same mind, both of them wished they could be elsewhere at that moment.

"Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black are both serving life sentences in Azkaban," Draco was speaking slowly, but his voice was firm. "I do not begrudge you your… distaste towards my family given the undeniable connection we have to such horrid individuals, but," the edge Harry had heard once before in his tone made its presence known, "I would appreciate it if you did not insinuate that the crimes of those murderers belong to my mother, father, or myself."

Harry was genuinely impressed when neither Neville nor Daniel backed down. A wand served as an effect simile to a weapon in their world, and there was no denying the fact that Draco had a presence to him; the way he had phrased his statement may have been veiled in niceties, but it was a threat. Harry had seen other people in his life cower before armed teens who didn't even hold a candle to the Malfoy heir. Gryffindors had stones, that much was undeniable.

"Your father has his own list of crimes," Daniel accused.

"My father was exonerated on all counts, a victim of the Imperius curse," Draco countered, his eyes narrowing.

"How convenient for him," Daniel bit out.

Draco snorted derisively. "Looking down on an innocent man because he's not in Azkaban? Is that how it is, Potter?"

"Everyone knows your father isn't innocent, Malfoy," Neville jumped back into the conversation. "If there was any justice in this country, he'd be rotting in prison."

"Justice?" Draco scoffed, and though he was shorter than Neville, he looked down at him like he would an insect on the ground. "Spare me your hypocritical diatribe, Longbottom. My father was cleared under the justice system your family helped build in this country. You don't want justice, you want vengeance, petty and misplaced as it is. Pathetic."

A wordless snarl escaped Daniel's lips as he flicked his wrist, his wand shooting into his hand, Draco's following suit not even a single heartbeat later. Both of their wands were still pointed to the ground, but Harry knew how quickly that could change.

"You have no right to call him pathetic!" Daniel glared at Draco, his hand twitching, his desire to cast a spell clear to all who were present.

"I invited you here looking to bury the hatchet between us, but if you want a fight, I'll give you one." Draco's stance shifted subtly, his body slightly angled, the grip on his wand light and easy to maneuver. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Daniel's positioning change as well.

"I'm sure you've just been waiting for the opportunity!" Daniel responded, green eyes glaring furiously from behind his glasses.

Harry wanted to speak up, to remind Draco of why he invited the Gryffindor quartet in the first place, to try and pull Daniel back to that light-hearted, slightly awkward state he usually existed in. Instead, he did nothing. In another life, perhaps, Harry would have stopped them; maybe he would have been there beside his twin, defending the honor of an adopted brother; but at that moment, in this life, that wasn't Harry. Their fight wasn't his, and so he stood back and did nothing.

"Is this really okay?" Ron whispered next to him, his wand at some point having made its way into his hand as well. "You're just going to let this happen?"

"It's not my fight," Harry replied tersely.

"He's your brother!" Ron's voice was hushed but passionate.

"It's not my fight!"

Ron shook his head, he looked… disappointed. "That doesn't matter, mate. You help your family. That's just what you do."

Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance, the standoff in front of him was still slowly escalating as the two continued to trade barbs. "Daniel's not purely in the right, why would I take his side?"

"I didn't say you had to fight alongside him, I said you had to help him."

Harry wasn't sure there was really a difference in this scenario. "I shouldn't fucking have to."

Ron shrugged, his eyes still riveted on Daniel and Draco, the two now having attracted other onlookers as the tension mounted. Everyone on the second floor was glued to the confrontation, with even those on the ground floor taking notice of the fight about to break out. "Maybe not, but you're brothers, so that's just what you do."

Harry's gut reaction was to deny that Daniel was in any way his responsibility, but he begrudgingly held it back. There was some truth to Ron's words, or there at least should have been. By all rights, he should just step in between Daniel and Draco, deescalate the situation enough to send his brother back to the dorms, get the Slytherin host a drink, and continue on with the evening. So, why didn't he? It wasn't like he hadn't already done things he otherwise wouldn't have if not for Daniel. Without his little brother's influence, Harry would have never reached out to Alice. Never. So, why was he so reluctant to get involved in this way?

I don't want people to only associate me with him… I want to be more than the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived…

Harry made jokes, he laughed about his brother's popularity and his own bit of a fame as a byproduct, but underneath the thin veneer of humor and apathy, he desperately wanted to stay out of his brother's shadow. He'd resolved to himself back in Diagon Alley that he wouldn't let others think of him as lesser than his brother, but whatever emotions were dwelling within him went beyond that initial sentiment. Above all else, Harry wanted to be seen as his own person. Reality was a cruel beast; he would always have some people who associated him as little more than the forgotten sibling of the Boy-Who-Lived, that much was inevitable… but if he got involved in everything Daniel did, if he made a point to always be around to help settle the battles that Daniel found himself in, then people would never see him as anything else but a fixture in Daniel's life. Harry wanted to be more than 'Daniel's brother,' he wanted to be Harry.

How could he possibly explain that to others without them assuming he's nothing more than a spiteful, jealous prick? Lingering insecurities they may have been, but they were still valid emotions he was within his right to feel… or that's what he thought, at least. Maybe others would disagree, but they weren't him; they had no way of truly understanding his circumstances nor the thoughts he had as a result. No one has any right to judge me because of my choices! Harry clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palms. Even if that thought was true, even if no one could blame him for the way he felt, he knew it didn't matter... At the end of the day, could Harry really claim to be a good brother if he walked away from Daniel every time the guy needed help?

"Last warning, Potter, lower your wand, now!"

The Slytherin's ultimatum pulled Harry out of his reverie. Daniel and Draco were still standing a scant six feet apart, both wands in position to cast whatever spells they had at their disposal, which, after getting to know them better, Harry guessed was a fair few. He and Ron had stepped off to the side, near the railing that overlooked the main floor of the extravagant room. Neville stood just behind Daniel, his face was a clear indicator of his anger, but unlike his adopted brother, he seemed to be wrestling with those emotions, an internal struggle waging within him.

"You first, Malfoy," Daniel spat at his opponent.

Fuck… Nothing else for it then, Harry mused bitterly. He sighed heavily as he pushed himself off the railing. Ron's approving gaze wasn't a motivator, but it didn't hurt either. I'm going, you git, I'm going.

There were a million things he'd rather do than get involved, but sometimes, life didn't give you a choice. He had just resigned himself to stepping in between the two would-be combatants before they could start flinging spells when, at the last second, he was spared the need. In a twist that Harry would have never expected, Neville, of all people, had been the one who had physically interjected himself directly between the two teens. The guy who had first escalated the conversation into a state of conflict was also the one who was trying to put a stop to it. He had a hand around Daniel's wrist and was forcibly looking him in the eye.

"Move, Nev," Daniel growled.

The taller teen didn't budge an inch. "Let's go, Daniel."

"Fuck that."

Their voices then fell too a volume too low for Harry to make out. Part of him wanted to join their hushed conversation and learn why Neville backed down, listen in on what might make Daniel follow suit, but he'd lost that right when he let Neville be the one to stop the fight. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't help now. Harry was the only one among the muttering onlookers to step forward, and he moved right past his twin without even acknowledging him.

"Nice work, Nev," Harry murmured quietly, clapping the taller teen on the shoulder as he crossed behind him to stand in front of Draco. The Slytherin had lowered his wand so it wasn't pointed at Neville's back, though he still had it at the ready.

"Evans," Draco acknowledged, his tone tense.

"You two just couldn't help but make a scene, huh?" Harry asked, keeping his voice quiet.

"I did not start this!" The blonde teen seethed.

"No, you didn't." Harry was not going to argue that point. Neville had escalated the argument, and Daniel had drawn his wand first. If anything, Draco's patience was to be commended, not that Harry was about to be the one to do so.

Draco's wand vanished from his hand, his stance returning to a neutral position. "It won't matter," he muttered angrily. "The rumors may be mixed, but public opinion won't be in my favor."

Harry could not deny the simple statement of fact. Draco may not have been reviled by everyone, but there was no way he was going to beat out the damned Boy-Who-Lived in a popularity contest.

"You could have stepped in sooner," Draco accused, but there was no heat in his words.

"Probably," Harry agreed, glancing over his shoulder briefly to see that his brother still had not sheathed his wand nor stepped away, but Nev hadn't moved either.

"But you didn't."

"I did not."

Draco snorted. "Hell of a conversation, Evans."

Harry shrugged. "I'm trying to give you space to think."

At that, Draco sneered. "Too late, Evans. The people I invited tonight are those I don't have connections with already. I can't manipulate or control what they tell others, not yet."

Harry chose not to dwell on the very interesting choice of words from his Slytherin companion at that moment. "No one has left yet; you still have time to change their perception."

Draco's eyes focused on him to the exclusion of all else. "And how the fuck would I do that? The damage has already been done."

"Invite them to stay at the event," Harry said simply, inclining his head behind him towards his still furious twin. "Be public about it, raise your voice a bit. Let others see that despite what just happened, it's already water under the bridge to you."

"Doing so will make me look weak."

"Is that worse than the rumors that you almost dueled the Boy-Who-Lived at your own party before he stormed out?" Harry honestly wasn't sure which result would be worse for the guy, but he could at least help him establish his options.

"It will be worse for me personally," Draco said, shaking his head, "but it will be better for my family…"

"Which one do you value more?"

Draco scoffed and walked past him. "Do you really have to ask?"

With that action, Harry didn't need to at all.

Draco's confident stride towards the two Gryffindors, one of which had been ready to curse him not moments prior, grabbed the attention of everyone watching. A single clap of his hands kicked off his gambit. "Well, gentlemen, I think we can all agree that was a rather shameful display." His voice was raised, not to such a degree that it was obvious he wanted everyone to hear him, but just loud enough that plenty of people could. "If my mother had seen me behaving in such a fashion, she would have quite a few choice words for me, I'm sure."

A bit of self-deprecation could go a long way in diffusing tensions, but based on the Slytherin's words, Harry could easily imagine how this would not do him any favors when it came to the internal politics of his House. Slytherin was known as the Snake Pit, after all.

Daniel seemed like he was about to respond, but a single glance from Neville silenced him completely. The Longbottom heir replied in a voice that was best described as forcefully calm. "Agreed, Malfoy. It should have never gone that far."

"You have my thanks, Longbottom. Cooler heads prevailed solely thanks to your intervention," Draco said, nodding at the teen respectfully. There wasn't any hint of a blisteringly fake smile plastered on his face, no one would buy such falsehoods. His words alone were his weapon of choice for this battle.

Neville didn't respond, but he did return the nod, his face impassive even as Daniel continued to glare. Harry genuinely wasn't sure what was going through Neville's head at that moment.

"Well, I do understand if you wish to leave after such hostilities, but should you wish to, I invite you to stay for a while." Draco's delivery was perfect.

"Wait, what?" Daniel finally spoke, his words overlapping with Neville's own.

"Why?"

Draco took their suspicion in stride, chuckling lightly, though he didn't try and hide the lack of true humor in it. "Despite our differences, I did invite you two this evening. No spells were cast by either of us, and so I see my invitation as still being in affect." Draco swept his arm over the hall with a wide, grand movement. "I imagine you're about sick of my company, rest assured, I won't trouble you after this, but please, feel free to stay and have a few drinks, enjoy the atmosphere, play a bit of poker if you're so inclined. No pressure, you're more than welcome to leave, I just wanted to inform you that the offer is still on the table."

The moment Draco had finished his little speech he stepped back from the duo, once again nodding his head respectfully before turning his back on them and walking away. The gesture was subtle, but Harry thought it was quite meaningful that he actually turned his back on someone he was ready to duel just minutes prior. There was a way to interpret such an action as weak, but Harry thought it would help sway the opinions of others that maybe Draco and Daniel weren't mortal enemies.

As if the entire confrontation had never happened, Draco returned to greeting his other guests and engaging them in conversation. No doubt he'd be dodging questions about what had just gone down all night, but Harry was certain that he was adept enough to handle that by his lonesome.

Harry strode back toward Daniel and threw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. "Let's talk, yeah." He wasn't asking.

With Harry on one flank and Neville on the other, they ensured Daniel had nowhere to escape to as they walked him over to the section of the balcony that Ron had claimed for them. Harry wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. He couldn't very well give him a lecture against fighting, nor about losing his shit. Still, he knew he wanted to say something because he was pretty fucking annoyed. Annoyed at himself, at Daniel, Neville too for that matter, hell, even Draco could easily find a place on Harry's shit-list.

Before Harry could say anything, he was beaten to the punch once more, though this time by someone different. "What the bloody hell was that all about?" Ron asked them, his hands in the air in puzzlement. "One minute you two are fine, we're all impressed by everything Malfoy set up, and the next you're bloody well tearing into the guy like he cursed you in the Great Hall!"

"Nev?" Harry accused. He was glad that Neville had gotten control of everything by the end, but he'd been the one to light the fuse to begin with.

Neville offered a half-hearted shrug and rubbed his eyes with the palms of both hands. "I don't have a good reason for getting pissed off, so if you're looking for a justification, I don't have one." He wasn't trying to defend himself, which, in a way, was its own form of defense.

"I just want to know what set you off at that moment?" Harry genuinely wasn't sure why Neville had gotten so angry at first.

Neville casually waved his hand toward Malfoy. "It's just who he is. When he was talking to us, he had this… expectation that we'd just agree to let bygones be bygones. To him, it was predetermined that we'd agree to forget the past month of insults and move on."

Harry looked at his friend quizzically. "And you have a problem with that?"

"It's exactly the same shit his father pulled, just different in scale," Neville responded, his bitterness was plain to see. "When Lucius Malfoy claimed to be under the Imperius curse he just expected the world to comply, to clear him of his crimes. The arrogance pisses me off."

The quartet fell into an uneasy silence. Neville had admitted his own fault, acknowledged that his actions were ultimately just done in the name of self-satisfaction, and had no real justification for them beyond that. There was no point in harping on him further, but in the same vein, no one could really begrudge him for those reasons. A third party could have easily castigated their general immaturity, but that wasn't really something Harry could do without coming across as a hypocrite. Or maybe he could, and he just didn't care enough to give a lecture. His thoughts were a bit of a jumble as to how he should respond or even if he should.

Ron was the one to continue the conversation, inclining his head toward Daniel. "His insults set you off, yeah?"

Daniel's reply was resolute. "I'll have a go at anyone that tries to call Nev pathetic." The guy had absolutely no regrets.

"Why'd you two even come in the first place?" Harry asked confusedly. He'd tried to parse together why the two guys who might as well have been the co-heads of an anti-Malfoy club would accept his invite at all. They hadn't even made it one conversation without being damn near ready to deck the guy, but they'd apparently planned on making it an entire night? It was ridiculous.

Daniel shrugged, scratching the back of his head. "I thought he might not act like a prick the entire time?"

"He tried to shake your hand and you all went off," Harry deadpanned.

Neither of the two guys had any response to that. Annoying prats.

"Alright, well, I think I'm done baby-sitting for the evening," Harry announced, casting an appreciative look around the hall. "I came here to have fun, and I refuse to let your petty rivalry get in the way of that."

"Hear hear," Ron's lingering annoyance was clear, but he followed up his words with a mock toast before turning to the brooding duo. "You two going to stick around?"

Daniel scoffed. "Fat chance of that. I don't know why Malfoy offered to let us, but I'd rather just go."

Neville, notably, didn't immediately answer.

"Well, I think you all should stay," Harry offered. He wasn't sure if he genuinely thought they should, or if he was trying to help out Draco in his own way. "Free drinks and all, plus, there are a lot of really cute girls here."

Harry's final reason to stay wasn't even a lie. Roughly half of the attendees were women, and as was usually the case with magicals, they were all pretty damn attractive in his eyes.

"Fair point…" Daniel murmured, his voice trailing off as he watched a gorgeous brunette on the first floor, a girl Harry recognized.

Parkinson, Harry mused. The exceedingly bitchy but no less attractive Slytherin had never quite exited his thoughts since they crossed paths in Diagon Alley. He still hadn't spoken to her since then, but they'd both caught each other staring on more than one occasion. It was almost like an unspoken game between them.

"I don't think I'm in the mood though, not right now at least," Daniel finished, recollecting his wits.

"People watch if nothing else," Harry remarked, running his fingers through his hair in an effort to stylishly mess it up even further. "Watch Ron and I take home the pot."

"You think you'll win?" Daniel asked, pulling his attention away from the girl in a little black dress.

"Of course, I will," Harry lied. In reality, he had very little confidence in his ability to win it all but practicing his bluff couldn't hurt. "Whatever you do, just keep your distance from me for a while, I'm still pretty pissed at you both." He didn't give his brother nor Neville a chance to respond before he started to walk away alongside Ron, but neither of the two boys tried to stop him.

Harry was glad to see that Ron didn't seem to be mad at him. Apparently, the fact that he'd even been willing to step in and help Daniel was enough to assuage Ron's judgement.

"You really think you'll win?" Ron asked him, a smile dancing at his lips.

"No doubt at all," Harry lied once more.

"Sorry, Harry," the redhead said, eyes fixed forward. "You aren't winning shite tonight."

"Ohhh?" Harry cupped his chin with his hand, a cheeky smile in place, the tense mood falling to the wayside in the face of amusement. "That sounds like a challenge to me."

"You paid my buy-in, so you're going to make money either way, but you aren't winning." Ron didn't even sound boastful; it was like he was talking about the chances for rain after it was already raining.

"Battle of pride then," Harry offered. "No gold on the line, just our egos."

"You're on, Evans."

The two friends made a beeline toward the bar upon descending the circular stairwell that led to the main hall. While there were plenty of familiar faces among the crowd of people, and even some faces that Harry could put names to, only a very select few of the guests were those he could call friend, with one in particular being someone he had not expected to see.

"Lav?" Harry called out the name of one of his best friends since entering the magical world with no small amount of surprise.

"Harry!" Lavender Brown, acting as the exceedingly lively and active girl that she was, did not hesitate to turn away from the guy she'd been talking to and dash over towards Harry. Fortunately, the abandoned guy seemed more amused than annoyed, and took the sudden cessation of conversation in humorous stride.

Lavender was dressed in a pair of flared blue jeans; a solid black, halter, cowl-neck top; complete with matching square-toe heels, and a velvet choker. The blonde was wearing her hair down but with a notable side flip. In a word, she was gorgeous. Though, after knowing her for over a month, Harry thought it was safe to say that gorgeous was Lavender's go-to brand, and she simply wouldn't settle for anything less.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you're here!" She immediately saddled up to Harry, latching one arm in the crook of his own while her other hand clutched her drink. The drink in question bore a striking resemblance to a Buck's Fizz, making him think it likely was one, though perhaps under a different name. "I thought I saw your brother and Draco about to hex each other's bits off, but I didn't see you!" She squealed happily. "Okay, this night is going to be SO much more fun now."

"Agreed," Harry said, genuinely sharing in the exuberant girl's sentiment. Ron was his best mate, but Lavender had such life to her, it was hard not to have a great time just being around the girl. "Who'd you bring with you?"

Lavender raised an eyebrow at him confusedly. "No one? I asked Draco if I could invite someone else, but noooo~, apparently that would be too many people." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be here, but come on, no plus ones?" The girl stuck out her tongue and pointed inside her mouth, miming throwing up. "Mister prim and proper knows how to plan, that's for sure, but he should really come to me for notes on the finer points of socialization."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at her assertions but he then closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he knew he was in for a fun bit of placation as soon as the girl on his arm realized that he had been able to invite a plus one and used it to invite Ron without even mentioning the event to her. She'd gotten an invite on her own so he doubted she would care too much, but still…

"About that…" Harry began, inwardly tensing up.

"Hmm?" She looked up at him with big brown eyes before suddenly noticing Ron's presence. "Ron!" She squealed happily again. "Sorry, I've had like, way more than one of these already," she held up the drink in her hand, "and I didn't even notice you!"

The smiling but bemused redhead took it all in stride. "You're okay, Lav, you look great by the way."

Still clutching onto Harry's arm, Lavender performed a quarter turn to show off her outfit and figure after receiving the compliment. "Thank you, thank you. I've been waiting to wear this top for ages; I had to wait because there's no waaaay my mum would ever let me wear it."

"Well worth the wait," Harry added. "Ron's right, you do look amazing."

Lavender smiled brightly, murmuring her thanks once more. "So, how come you two received invites? I got mine thanks to Daddy being so awesome, but what about you two?"

Once again, Harry prepared himself, this time via a sigh. "I was about to mention that… we got an invite, singular."

"Huh?"

Ron nodded along. "I'm, uh, well… Harry invited me to tag along." Despite initially stumbling over his words, Ron chose to finish his confession in one rapid go.

Lavender still looked quite confused, so Harry chose to explain. "Draco invited me to try and serve as an intermediary to my brother, but he gave both of us permission to invite others, likely to try and make Daniel more comfortable." Harry was trying to finish his explanation before Lavender could get her feelings hurt. "I couldn't decide who I wanted to invite between you and Ron, so I, uh, I flipped a coin and trusted fate…" He trailed off for a second before quickly adding an apology. "Sorry for not inviting you."

Harry loved to tease and be flippant towards everyone and everything, but even then, he generally sought to avoid hurting his friends' feelings. Of course, as was the norm with Harry, whenever he tried to be a good person, life had a way of making him feel like an idiot. Lavender did not look hurt at all, nor did she even appear to be sympathetic to his apology, instead, she seemed to be holding back fits of laughter.

"Let me get this straight, you were so worried about my reaction to you not inviting me as your plus one, that you're apologizing about the results of a coinflip?" She failed to stifle her amusement after that rather short recap.

Upon seeing the girl's laughter, Harry felt like that was more than enough punishment for him. "Given your reaction, I'm going to say I was concerned. Past tense. It's gone now."

"Oh my god, that's so cute," Lavender tried to hide her smirk behind her drink. She failed miserably.

"Yeah, he was pretty torn up about it," Ron lied, boldly turning on the one who invited him.

"Bite me, Ron." Harry's arm was still attached to Lavender's, but he liberally used the other to give Ron the good, ole fashioned two-fingered salute; he then made a beeline for the bar, the giggling blonde keeping pace with him easily.

"Your apology was so sincere though," Lav continued to tease him before letting up a tad. "Honestly, I really do appreciate it."

"Hear that, Harry?" Ron called from behind him, claiming an empty seat at one of the poker tables that currently only had a single other occupant in the form of a tall, male student with dark hair. "The time you spent agonizing in the mirror wasn't in vain after all!" The redhead, on the other hand, did not let up on his teasing.

"I need a drink," Harry muttered, eyeing the blonde on his left. "Maybe two."

Lavender ceased her laughter, leaning into Harry slightly. "You know, if you really did feel bad, next time you get a single extra invite to something fun, you could always just mention it to me and then flip a coin. Maybe I would have gotten my own invite like tonight, and there won't be any worries."

Harry could not deny the simple logic in her plan. Despite her well-deserved reputation as being fun, flirty, and flighty, Lavender was one of those girls who had a genuine sense for people and how to interact with them. Bless her.

"Alright, alright, next time I get an invite to a midnight poker tournament, I promise to at least consult you about it before flipping a coin. Deal?"

"Deal!" The blonde winked at him.

There were a number of different leather padded seats arranged around the bar; Harry did not hesitate to claim two of them for himself and his companion. Lavender immediately ordered another of what was already in her hand while Harry ordered a Dark 'n' Stormy for himself. He was momentarily concerned that the bartender wouldn't be familiar with the name, but they made the admittedly simple drink perfectly. Either the combination of ginger beer and rum had crossed the cultural divide, or the older student serving drinks was familiar with the muggle world; whichever the answer, it wasn't that important to Harry at that moment.

"So, you mentioned that your dad was the reason you got an invite?" Harry knew that Draco was looking to foster connections with a number of different people who were all fairly high on the social ladder, but he hadn't questioned the specific criteria.

"Mmmhmm," Lavender nodded in the midst of taking a drink, though whether she was actually savoring the taste was up for debate. "Daddy actually owns and operates one of the larger suppliers of potions ingredients in the country, and his business is still growing."

Harry's eyes went wide; he'd known the girl was a pure-blood, but not of her familial status. "How did I not guess that you were a rich girl?"

"We're new money," Lavender said shamelessly. "Daddy's business only really took off during the war."

When in the midst of chaos… Harry mused to himself, wetting his lips via his beverage of choice.

Other people could argue over the ethics of expanding your business ventures thanks to the casualties of war all day long, but Harry had little concern for such an endless debate. The fact of the matter was that Lavender's father displayed excellent business acumen and had done well for his family. Hell, if her father played his cards correctly, the Brown family could very well find themselves elevated to the status of a Noble House in the coming decades. It made perfect sense why Draco had seized the initiative and invited Lavender before their name was firmly established.

"Might as well enjoy the perks," Harry remarked, rising from his seat, and offering his arm to his blonde companion once more, barely sparing the action any thought.

"Right? I mean, imagine missing out on all of this?" Lavender gestured to the room at large as she hooked her arm into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

To any onlookers, they would likely be mistaken for a couple, but both of them were already used to fielding such assumptions at this point. Their fast friendship and general comfort with one another had already led to a fair number of questions and rumors as to the nature of their relationship, but neither hesitated to maintain that they were friends. Close friends, to be sure, but friends all the same.

Harry wasn't entirely sure why the friendship he shared with Lavender hadn't taken a more sensual turn, but it was clear that neither of their thoughts or feelings for one another trended in that direction. He didn't have any objection to Lavender on a physical level by any means, so it wasn't like the idea of sleeping with her turned his stomach, but the fact remained that he did not view her in such a light. Whether that would always remain the case he couldn't say, but he didn't care to dwell on such thoughts. Lavender was one of his best friends, that was what was important.

The intertwined duo returned to the same table as Ron, bringing the number of individuals already seated up to seven, though that number was likely about to increase to a full eight. "Not going to drink?" Harry asked his friend, who had thus far remained sober.

"Not yet," Ron murmured, eyes flickering between those who would soon be his opponents. "I want to get a measure of the other players first, you know?"

Harry did know, but he also didn't care. He wasn't invested in recouping his buy-in to that degree. Though, he did understand why Ron might feel differently, even though he hoped his friend understood that he wouldn't be upset if he walked away without winning a single knut.

"You're taking this more seriously than I thought."

Ron chuckled but deigned not to respond, turning his focus toward studying the other occupants, inadvertently pulling Harry's attention as well. Aside from the three Gryffindors, there was an eclectic mix of students at their table:

In the first chair, and also first to the table, was the tall, dark-haired guy with chiseled features and gray eyes. An attractive bloke, even by Harry's heterosexual judgment. He was likely in his fourth or fifth year, but Harry thought it was honestly hard to tell. In the second chair there was a blonde boy with thick features who Harry vaguely recognized from the Sorting Ceremony on their first night. His name escaped him, but he believed the guy was a Hufflepuff. The third chair was claimed by an attractive girl who appeared to be of heavy Asian descent and around his own age. Harry didn't remember her from the first night though, so he assumed she was either a second or third year. He could be wrong, but he tended to remember faces pretty well.

In the fourth, fifth, and sixth chairs sat Ron, Harry, and Lavender, respectively. A trio worth paying attention to in Harry's book, but he turned his gaze over to the girl who had claimed the seventh chair as her own. She was a rather petite girl with pretty blue eyes and long black hair; beautiful did not even begin to do her justice as a descriptor, but even more so than her appearance alone, her demeanor was what Harry found utterly enthralling. Definitely fourth year or above, Harry mused internally. She did look older than eighteen by his judgment, but her confidence said more than her features ever could.

Harry leaned over to whisper into Ron's ear. "Hey, don't make it obvious, but check out the girl in the seventh chair."

Ron snorted, his eyes not moving away from the pile of chips he'd just received in exchange for three golden coins. "You mean my toughest competition?"

A lone eyebrow rose in surprise. "You can tell?" Harry asked, somewhat amazed.

"I could tell the second she sat down," Ron murmured before nodding resolutely. "No doubt about it, that girl's dangerous, Harry, mark my words."

"Consider them marked," Harry said, but his mind was already elsewhere as his eyes turned back towards the apparently dangerous student.

Either his staring was a bit too obvious, or she was a bit too perceptive, because the very girl he was looking at met his gaze without a shred of apprehension and a coquettish grin on her lips. The fact that Harry did not immediately look away must have impressed her because she winked at him before turning to organize the chips that had just been placed in front of her. Just like that, Harry had a new goal for the night: At a minimum, he was going to befriend the hot, older girl from god knows which House.

Though it took a herculean amount of effort, Harry was able to shift his focus over to the final occupant of the table. In the eighth chair sat an older, relaxed looking male student with long, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. The man was dressed in casual clothes, but the pin he wore on his lapel still gave him away as a Ravenclaw student. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but unless he was a hustler, Harry didn't think he'd be much of a threat to Ron. It was obvious the way he was fiddling with his chips; it spoke of unfamiliarity more than anything else.

Having examined the entirety of the table, Harry immediately found his attention drawn back to the girl whose presence had so far dominated the table. He didn't quite cross the line into gawking, but it wouldn't take a genius to notice how she almost always seemed to remain in his line of sight.

"See something you like, Harry~?" Lavender whispered into his ear, her lips quirking into an amused smirk.

"I'd be lying if I said otherwise," Harry confirmed her suspicions shamelessly and without contest. "How about you? I noticed you keep glancing at mister tall, dark, and handsome over there."

"Oh, him? That's Cedric Diggory."

Harry hid a smile in his drink. "Should've guessed you would know his name."

Lavender had firmly established herself as the absolute queen of gossip among the first-year Gryffindors. Harry had a running bet with Fay that said reputation would spread to all years before Christmas, and all Houses by their third year.

"Name? Harry, I know his entire life story."

Harry decided a quiz was in order. "What's his astrological sign?"

"Virgo." The answer was immediate.

"Damn, you're good."

"Aren't I?" Lavender preened happily, taking a sip of her drink as she did a little dance in her chair.

"So, when's the wedding?" Harry asked, rolling one of his chips along his fingers.

Lavender put her hand up in the universal sign for 'stop' as she shook her head. "Not for a loooong time. I need to thoroughly scandalize my mum a few more times and make sure everyone knows I'm not allowed to wear a white dress before I settle down with a nice boy."

It was the fact that he couldn't tell if she was joking or not that did it for him. "Just as... long as… I get an invite," he said around his fits of laughter.

"Invite?" Lavender almost seemed affronted. "Harry, right now you're in the running to be my maid of honor. You'll be in my wedding no matter when it is."

A warm smile spread across Harry's face as he pulled Lavender into him for a hug. "That was actually sweet of you. I take it the alcohol is to thank?"

"Kinda," Lavender said, her voice only slightly muffled. "I am a pretty affectionate drunk."

"Noted," Harry replied, releasing the girl as she smiled up at him. "So, since I'm in your wedding, I have a few questions: Number one, will I be wearing a dress?"

Lavender shook her head in the negative. "I did consider it for a little while, but I thinnnk I settled on not doing it?"

The questioning lilt in her tone combined with the way she dragged out the word 'think' led Harry to believe the decision had yet to be fully determined. Whichever choice she settled on; he would comply. Even when discussing a hypothetical wedding, Harry knew that it was tantamount to illegal to argue with the bride.

"Question two, indoor or outdoor? Fair warning, if it's outdoor and there's wind, my hair will be literally impossible to control, even with the use of magic."

For a brief moment Lavender seemed rather dubious of his claims, but all it took was a flick of her eyes to his untamable locks before understanding settled over her features. "That does look like a tough customer… Regardless, it will definitely be outdoors, but it will also be a destination wedding in Greece, sooooo," Lavender shrugged a bit. "We'll just deal with that when the time comes."

"Oooh, Greece. Very nice."

"I know, right?" Lavender agreed as if she wasn't the one to bring it up in the first place. "Daddy's been there before on business and oh my gooood, the pictures he brought back were gorgeous. I fell in love right then and there and I just knew- oh, oh, we're starting!"

The dealer pulling out a brand-new deck of cards and adroitly shuffling them for all to see brought a rather swift end to the two friend's conversation. Lavender may have been tipsy, but even she seemingly wanted to treat the game with a fair amount of seriousness. Not that Harry disagreed, he may have wanted to flirt with the girl on the other side of Lavender, but he wasn't about to throw away his chances to earn a literal pot of gold in the process.

The moment the first card was dealt, Harry's evening became a delightful mix of alcohol, cards, and the wonderful sound of chips falling in a pile.

OoooOoooO

Author's Note:

I actually planned to have soooo much more happen in this chapter, but I cut it off here because I realized it was getting way too long. Minor spoiler for the next chapter: Harry's night isn't done yet. Hopefully I'll update this relatively soon rather than in a few months. OH, and I also have other stories now too. Most of them are more akin to teasers than full stories, but feel free to check them out. Or don't. Whichever works. As always, thanks for reading. :)