A/N:  A huge thank you to my betas:  Nappa and akscully, for their careful consideration and helpful suggestions.  It should be noted that only the first two thirds of this story were available for them to beta.  I wrote the rest later and considered inflicting it on them again, but I didn't have the heart.  This is twice as long as my normal chapters, but we are now into plot.  Don't know how plot snuck into this story, but I blame Ms. Scribe for being such a good and prolific writer that I think I ended up being infected.  Also a shout out to the members of the Fanboy Harem.  You know who you are and you should stop complaining about the tight costumes.

** This chapter contains quotes from the movies "Zoolander" and "Say Anything" – see if you can guess where. **

Severus Snape stood staring at up at the giant skull, the serpent protruding obscenely from its mouth.  His expression betrayed nothing, but a muscle jumped in his cheek.  Students milled about, whispering and pointing; he seemed not to notice them.  "Argus," he said softly to the school caretaker who had come up beside him.  "Please see what you can do about obliterating this piece of filth as quickly as possible."

"Will do, Professor."  Filch stumped away.

"Thank you, Severus.  I was about to make a similar request myself," said Dumbledore.  He and several of the other teachers had come down to investigate the fuss.  In one hand he held a small cellophane bag of lemon drops which he appeared to have been snacking on.  The headmaster cleared his throat before raising his voice and addressing the assembled students.  "You will all please return to your dormitories!  I do not need to remind you that classes begin tomorrow.  Your teachers and I had hoped that by giving you an additional day to settle in, we would find you all well rested and sufficiently prepared to start the term."  His eyes twinkled at a group of third years who hovered a few inches above the ground, apparently having consumed massive quantities of Fizzing Whizbees.  "Let us hope we shall have no cause to regret that decision."

With that, the crowd began to disperse.  Hermione, clutching Harry's hand, began to lead him away.  However, he seemed to be rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes from the glowing image.  Unconsciously, he reached up to touch his scar. 

"What is it, Harry?  Is your scar hurting you?"  Hermione's insides felt icy.  She knew that Harry's scar hurt whenever Voldemort was present or plotting something especially evil.  It was part of the involuntary bond he shared with the Dark Lord.

"Actually, no," Harry said, puzzled.  "Normally in the presence of dark magic I'd feel something, but there's not even a twinge."

"Losing your touch, Potter?" 

Harry recognized that arrogant, drawling voice and his head whipped around as he located its owner.  Draco Malfoy.  The pale, blonde boy was watching him with an unreadable expression in his odd, silver eyes.

"Malfoy," Harry said pleasantly.  "I thought I smelled something."  He nodded towards the Mark.  "Daddy been teaching you to draw pictures again?  What's the matter, did we run out of finger paint?"

"It is impressive," said Draco, looking up at the leering skull.  "But no, not my handiwork."  He smirked.  "Of course, if it was, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, now would I?"

"Harry, let's go."  Hermione pulled again on his hand.

"That's right, Potter.  The little Mudblood seems eager to spend some quality time with you."  His eyes traveled over the little bits of leaf stuck in Hermione's hair and took in the rumpled state of their clothing.  "Or perhaps that's what you've already been doing?"

Harry didn't bother to go for his wand.  His fist connecting with Malfoy's jaw was somehow much more satisfying than a hex anyway.

Malfoy stumbled backwards and landed in a sitting position, a thin trickle of blood forming at the corner of his mouth.  Harry stood over him, waiting.  Get up, you son of bitch.  Come on, Harry silently dared him.  But Malfoy merely sat there, looking relatively unruffled for someone who had just taken a right hook to the face.  He pulled out a linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth.  He smiled crookedly.  "Oh dear, I seem to have touched a nerve, haven't I?"

Harry would have lunged for him again, but Hermione's hand on his arm stopped him.  "Leave him, Harry."  She threw Malfoy a contemptuous look.  "Shouldn't you be out dating your cousin or something, Malfoy?  I've heard insanity runs in those pureblood families.  Recessive genes, you know.  Let's go, Harry."  She flicked a glance at the towering skull and then at the boy at her feet.  "The atmosphere here is a bit . . . foul."  Purposefully, she strode off in the direction the other Gryffindors had taken.

This time, although he was still shaking with fury, Harry turned without a word and followed Hermione.  Draco sat and watched them go.  He chuckled humorlessly.  "Insanity?  Wouldn't surprise me in the least."  But they were too far away to hear him.

"Get up, Malfoy."  It was Snape.  Draco wondered how much of that little exchange he had witnessed.  "I want to see you in my office, now."

With surprising grace, Draco got to his feet and started after the Potions Master, who was already walking away.  "I'm just Mr. Popularity today, I suppose."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione and Harry walked the rest of the way back in silence.  Her hand felt cold in his.  Harry wanted to say something reassuring, but he couldn't find the words.  He settled for squeezing her hand gently.  When they reached the portrait hole that was the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Harry stopped and drew her into his arms.  She clung to him until finally he pulled away.  "You go on, 'Mione.  I'll be back in a bit.  I've got something I need to do."

Hermione nodded.  Her whole body felt like it was going numb.  She knew this feeling.  This fear was familiar and yet somehow worse.  It's starting again, she thought.  Oh please, please don't let me lose him now.  Not now.  "I'll be fine," she lied.  "I wanted to get a head start on my reading anyway."

"That's my girl," Harry said.  He gave her a quick but thorough kiss, and then he was gone.

His girl, thought Hermione later on, as she sat before the fire in the common room.  Well, I'll be damned if I let anything happen to him.  She flipped open the large, dusty book on her lap, scanning the pages until at last she found the entry she was looking for:  MORSMORDRE.  Grabbing a fresh quill, she dipped it into the inkpot and began making notes.  Later on, she would pay a visit to the restricted section of the library and do some cross-referencing.  "One of the most extraordinary minds in the Wizarding world" Harry had said.  Well, she'd fight with whatever weapons she had.  If someone was going to come after Harry, they'd have to get through her first.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fleur lay huddled in a corner of the bed.  Ron curled his body protectively around her and murmured soothingly.  He had gone to look for her as soon as he heard.  He hadn't bothered to go and see the spectacle for himself.  He shuddered.  He was all too familiar with the Dark Mark and those who conjured it.

He found her, nearly catatonic with fear, crouched in a corner of the room she shared with Lavender and Parvati.  She had been given the bed that was vacated when Hermione became Prefect.  The other girls, as well as his sister Ginny, looked on helplessly as he wrapped her in a blanket and carried her to the bed.

It was Ginny who told him what had happened.  They were returning from Hogsmeade, giggling and laden with purchases of sweets and cosmetic potions.  As they neared the school, they noticed the crowd.  Suddenly, they heard an unearthly keening noise and realized that it was coming from Fleur, whose eyes had gone wide and staring.  They turned to see what she was looking at and saw the Mark.  They managed to get her back to the room, but Fleur became hysterical when someone suggested taking her to the infirmary.  She refused to let them touch her.  She crouched in a corner of the room, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees, all the while crying like a wounded beast.

"I was about to go get you," Ginny said when Ron arrived, out of breath.  He had run all the way from the Quidditch pitch.

Now he lay beside Fleur, his arms wrapped around her.  "It's all right," he said quietly, stroking her moonlight-colored hair.  "You're safe.  I'm here."  Tenderly, he tucked the blanket beneath her chin.  "I'll always be here."

The other girls looked away from the couple on the bed.  It didn't seem right, somehow, that they should be listening to this.  They knew these words were for Fleur only.  Lavender jerked her head in the direction of the door.  Ginny and Parvati followed her lead. 

"Ginny."  Ron's voice stopped them.  "Do me a favor."

"Of course," she said.

"Find Harry.  See if he's okay."  Fleur's whimpering had ceased and she was breathing evenly, her eyes closed.  Ron seemed reluctant to let go of her.  "Tell Harry I'll be there soon."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Peppermint humbugs."

Nothing happened.  Harry tried again.  "Um, Licorice Wands."  Nothing.  "Jelly Slugs?"  Still nothing.

Harry racked his brain.  "Er, Ton-Tongue Toffee?"  The stone gargoyle hopped aside, and the wall behind him split in two to reveal a spiral staircase that revolved upward like an escalator. "I'll be damned."  Harry shook his head and stepped onto the stair.  "I've got to remember to tell Fred and George about this one."

When staircase stopped moving, Harry stood before a large oaken door with a knocker in the shape of a griffin.  He rapped once, and the door swung open to admit him.  There, seated in a high-backed chair behind an enormous claw-footed desk was Dumbledore.  He did not seem the least bit surprised.

"Ah, Harry.  Do come in," said Dumbledore, gesturing to a chair in front of the desk.  He held out a small paper sack.  "Chocolate Cockroach?"

Harry eyed the chocolate-coated insects warily.  "Um, no thanks, sir.  I was just coming to ask you about something."

"Yes, yes, Harry.  I was just about to send for you.  I've just been having a talk with Cornelius Fudge, you see.  After giving the matter thorough consideration, we've decided it would be best if you did not participate in the Auror Training Program."

"WHAT?!  But, sir . . ." The words of protest were out of his mouth before Harry could catch himself.  "I mean, you helped me to get into the program in the first place!  I just sent in my letter of acceptance!  I would think that especially after what's happened today, with the appearance of the Dark Mark . . ." Harry fell silent.  He was confused and bitterly disappointed.  He ducked his head, to hide the anger he knew must show in his eyes.

"The Dark Mark was a hoax, Harry."  Dumbledore spoke matter-of-factly.

Harry's head shot up.  He searched the ancient Headmaster's face for clues, but could find none.  "I don't understand, sir."

"It was paint.  Ordinary, non-magical Muggle paint.  Cunningly applied, I will admit – must've used a spell to get it up there.  That glow-in-the-dark stuff the Muggles have come up with is most ingenious, don't you think?

Harry's head was spinning.  "But why would someone go to all that trouble for a prank?  And if that's all it was, then why do you not want me to attend the Auror Training?"

"Harry," Dumbledore said seriously.  "I do not think this was a mere act of vandalism.  We have wards placed throughout the Hogwarts grounds.  It would be very difficult indeed for someone to practice Dark magic undetected.  But a simple image charm, using non-magical materials would easily go unnoticed.  No, whoever placed the Dark Mark on that wall was very clever.  I think today's scare was a calculated effort to convince you to leave Hogwart's, as you would most certainly choose to do in order to protect those you care for."

"And you think I should stay."  Harry no longer made any effort to conceal his frustration.  "Perhaps I should paint a big red 'X' on my forehead while I'm waiting for Voldemort to show up."

Unlike almost everyone else Harry knew, Dumbledore did not flinch at the mention of the Dark Lord's name.  "When you first approached me at the end of last term about entering this program, I thought it the best course of action," Dumbledore said calmly.  "Much has happened since then which has caused me to reconsider.  I have also spoken to Sirius Black.  We feel it would be safer for you to stay at Hogwarts."

So his godfather was in on this as well, Harry thought.  Once again, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that he had survived several attempts on his life by Voldemort and his minions, everyone seemed determined to treat him like a child who needed sheltering.  But he was not a child.  Voldemort had taken his family once.  He thought of Hermione and Ron, and the others at Hogwarts who had befriended him.  He would not let Voldemort harm his family again.

"All right then."  Harry was amazed at how normal his voice sounded.  "If that's all, then I guess I'd better get back to my dorm."  Not waiting for permission, he turned to leave.

"Harry."  Dumbledore was gazing at him shrewdly.  "You must trust me when I tell you that there is more at stake here than you realize.  Do not do anything foolish."

"Yes, sir.  Of course not."

"Good evening, then."

Without a word, Harry stepped through the door and onto the downward spiraling staircase. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny took the stairs two at a time, her long legs easily spanning the distance.  Like her brother Ron, she was tall and thin, and she might have appeared coltish if not for the distinctly feminine curves that softened the lines of her body.  Her red hair flowed out behind her like a fiery banner as she ran down the hall, and every male within a hundred foot radius slowed to watch as she passed.

At the moment, Ginny was too intent on her mission to notice any of this.  She was looking for Harry.  She understood what Ron was asking her when he had sent her to find Harry.  Ron knew, perhaps better than anyone else, what the appearance of the Dark Mark must mean for his friend.  They all knew it.  And she, as well as the rest of Harry's friends, felt the same helpless desire to protect and help him.  She was well over the little-girl crush she had had on him when she first came to Hogwarts – it wasn't that.  Harry was just . . . special.  People wanted to be near him; to follow him, into danger if necessary.

Harry was not in any of the deserted classrooms, nor was he in the Great Hall or the library.  Ginny had found Hermione there, but she had been deeply engrossed in a bunch of old scrolls and books, too distracted to be of any help.  Ginny was about to give up and head back to the dorm when she rounded a corner and ran smack into another student.

"Ow!"  Her head made a sickening crunching sound as it came into contact with the other person's skull.  The force of the impact rocked Ginny back on her heels, and she could do little more than stand there, clutching her forehead.

The owner of the other skull let fly with a string of colorful and descriptive phrases, and though her eyes were closed and her ears were ringing, Ginny realized to her intense displeasure that she had just had a head-on collision with Draco Malfoy.  She listened to him swearing.  In spite of herself, she was impressed by the breadth of his imagination and the use of detailed imagery.  Malfoy either did a lot of reading or he hung out with sailors in his spare time.

"God bloody dabbit," said Draco, apparently running out of invective.  "I dink by dose is broked."  He pulled his hand away from his nose and stared in disbelief at the red staining his fingers.  He glared accusingly at Ginny.  "You broke by dose!"

 "Oh, don't be such a crybaby, Malfoy."  Ginny's own head was still throbbing painfully.  "Madame Pomfrey can fix you up in second.  You'll be pretty as ever and you can go back to poncing around like the Lord of the Manor."

"I doht  podse!"

"What?"

"I doht podse."  At Ginny's blank look, he repeated irritably, "Podse!"  He made little mincing steps to illustrate.

Unable to help herself, Ginny giggled.  It was too much.  The most irritating person in school, who lived to undermine Harry Potter and who constantly made fun of the Weasleys for their shabby financial status, was standing in front of her with a rapidly swelling nose and blood all over the front of his shirt, acting out charades.  

At his outraged expression, Ginny began laughing even harder.  This caused her chest to heave most delightfully – something which Draco may have appreciated under different circumstances.  At the moment, however, he was too busy bleeding.

"Oh, bugger off."  It wasn't brilliant, as retorts went, but Draco's jaw still ached where Potter had hit him, and now his nose felt like someone had used it for a game of Exploding Snap.  Wonderful.  Just what he needed after his little heart-to-heart with Snape.  The damned Gryffindors were out to kill him.

"Oh dear. You don't look good at all, Malfoy." 

"Danks," he said, sourly.  Ginny saw that there was a nasty bruise along his jaw, one that she was sure had not been caused by her, and that he was even more pale than usual.  Not that it was any concern of hers.  She didn't know who had given Malfoy the other injury, but she was sure he deserved it.

"You should get to the infirmary."

Ginny started to walk away.  She still needed to find Harry.  She glanced back over her shoulder and to her surprise, saw that Malfoy was not moving.  He was leaning against the wall, taking shallow breaths through his mouth.  He looked as though he had been hit hard by something, and not just her head.  Ginny had gotten her certification in Magical First Aid over the summer.  If she didn't know better, she'd swear that Malfoy was in shock.  She took another step and then stopped.

"Oh, bloody hell," she sighed.  However satisfying it might have been, Ginny couldn't bring herself to just leave him there like that.  She wasn't a Slytherin, after all.  Damn it.  She got out her wand.

"Whad izzit dow?  Hey!  Geddaway frob be!"  Malfoy backed away from her, fumbling for his own wand.

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy.  I'm not going to hurt you.  Here."  Ginny pointed her wand at his face.  "Percuro!"

Instantly the swelling in Draco's nose began to recede.  The bruises faded and disappeared.  Suspiciously, Draco felt his face and was surprised when he encountered no pain.  "What did you do?"

"Basic first aid healing spell.  You're welcome, Malfoy."

Completely taken off guard and temporarily robbed of speech, Draco watched Ginny as she disappeared off down the corridor.  Although he was no longer in pain, he remained as he was, leaning against the wall.  All in all, it had been a confusing and aggravating day.  He rubbed his jaw, where the bruise had been.  Potter would pay for that one.  Eventually.  Right now, he had other things on his mind.

Snape had not told him anything he didn't already know, but it surprised him how quickly it was becoming public knowledge.  His father's disappearance.  The Ministry investigation.  The Malfoy assets frozen.  They still had the mansion, but for how much longer?  They no longer had the funds to maintain it, and the servants were deserting like rats off a sinking ship.  He saw his father's image, elegant and cruel, in his mind.  "Where did you go, you bastard?"  he whispered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny flew down the corridor.  Her eyes kept scanning for Harry, but her mind was elsewhere.  The episode with Malfoy had been . . . unsettling.  She wasn't sure why, but she almost felt sorry for him.  He seemed very alone.  Lonely, even.  Which was ridiculous, of course.  Malfoy had loads of creepy Slytherins to keep him company, not the least of which were the hulking Crabbe and Goyle. 

But still, she mused.  He'd been so shocked when she healed his nose.  As if no one ever did things like that for him.  Again, something which should come as no surprise, considering that he generally behaved like a spoiled, loathsome, bigoted prat.  Ginny frowned remembering Malfoy's taunts about her family and the way he called Hermione a Mudblood.  Poncy git.

Lost in thought, Ginny failed to notice an equally distracted Harry emerging from a staircase, and was thus treated to her second full-body collision of the day.  Annoyed, Ginny gave a little yelp and said something extremely rude.

"Ginny!"  Harry was shocked.  "Wherever did you hear that expression?"  He narrowed his eyes.  "Does Ron know you talk like that?"

"Yes," she said blandly.  "He's giving me lessons.  Obscenity for Beginners.  Now, where have you been?  Ron asked me to come find you and I've been looking for ages.  He's worried about you." 

"I'm fine.  Really.  Why wouldn't I be?"

Ginny gave him a level look.

"Oh.  Right.  Well, I don't think that's anything to worry about."  Harry mustered a smile, despite the fact that he was still seething over Dumbledore's decision.  "Shall we go find Ron, then?"

"Um, he said he would come to you soon," said Ginny, turning slightly pink.  "He's with Fleur."

Harry looked at her sharply.  "Everything all right?"

"Well, not exactly."  Ginny told him what had happened when Fleur had caught sight of the Mark.  "Ron's with her now, and she seems to be . . ." Ginny trailed off.   Without waiting for her to finish, Harry had taken off in the direction of the Gryffindor tower.  "Oh no you don't," she muttered, jogging after him.  Her days as Ron's tag-a-long little sister were over.  Something was up, and she intended to be there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Harry got to the Gryffindor common room, it was deserted except for Hermione.    She was curled up in her favorite chair next to the fireplace, with several large books stacked untidily on the floor next to her.  She was reading an old, rather crumbly looking scroll.  There was a quill tucked behind her ear and a smudge of ink on her chin where she must have rested it atop her hand.  Harry watched her lips moving and saw a faint crease appear between her brows.  He felt his heart squeeze in his chest.  God, he loved her.  For a moment, he forgot about Dumbledore and the Dark Mark and everything else.  He wanted to stay just like this, watching her.

"Hey, brainiac."

"Harry."  In two seconds she was across the room and in his arms.  She didn't ask where he had been or what he had been doing. "I missed you."

Harry closed his eyes and breathed her in.  It felt like a hundred years had passed since their picnic by the lake.  It was still slightly unbelievable to him that he was allowed to do this.  He tightened his arms around her and lowered his head to kiss her.

"Ahem."  Ginny, who had just come through the portrait hole, coughed embarrassedly.

"One moment," said Harry, without looking up.  And he touched his lips to Hermione's in a soft, sweet kiss.  It was brief but tender, and Hermione wondered why something so fleeting should cause her knees to buckle.

"Oh, God.  Get a room, you two."  Ron had emerged from Fleur's room.  "All right there, Harry?"  He gave his friend a meaningful look.

"How's Fleur?"  Harry asked, returning the look.

"She's – as well as can be expected.  It just gave her a bit of a jolt, that's all."

Hermione and Ginny were listening to this exchange with growing interest.  There was more going on here than normal concern for Fleur's health.

Hermione had her arms crossed over her chest and was tapping one foot on the floor as she glanced from Harry to Ron.  "All right, what's going on here, guys?"

"What's what?" asked Ron.

"You two are hiding something."

"She doesn't trust us," said Ron to Harry in an injured tone.

"I know you."

Harry and Ron looked at each other.  "You'd better have a look at this."  Ron held out a copy of the Daily Prophet which he'd been carrying.  The headline read, "Three New Muggle Disappearances Linked to Recent Death Eater Sightings."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  "OK," he said, resignedly.  "We'll tell you everything.  But can we go get something to eat, first?"

"Stay right where you are," said Ginny.  "I'll be back in a minute.  And don't you dare start without me."  She glared at her brother and Harry in turn before stepping out through the portrait hole.

The two boys were left alone with Hermione, who now had her eyebrows raised.  "I can't wait to hear this," she said.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco Malfoy lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, which was beaded with small drops of moisture.  Situated as it was in the dungeons, most of the rooms in the Slytherin dormitory tended to be dank and drippy.  This suited his present mood perfectly.

His return to school this year should have been triumphant.  He had finally been made captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and he was fairly sure that it wasn't because his father had equipped each member of the team with the latest version of Firebolt, the fastest yet, and had completely refurbished the Slytherin locker room.  Well, not entirely, anyway.  The exhaustive practice sessions with the trainer his father got him (a former beater for Irish International Side who had fallen on hard times) had paid off.  Determined to wipe the derisive sneer off Lucius' face, Draco had trained obsessively.  As a result, the formerly weedy boy had gained 20 pounds of muscle, and somewhere along the line, he had gotten taller.  He had cut his silvery blonde hair short and the sun had bleached it nearly white.  He was well aware of the admiring glances he received when he walked into the Great Hall yesterday, and not all of them were from Slytherins.

Seeing him swagger over to the Slytherin table where he proceeded to hold court like a young emperor, no one would have guessed the truth.  That any day now, the world would learn that Lucius Malfoy had been indicted on charges of conspiracy and intent to practice dark magic.  That he had disappeared two weeks before the start of school, a day before the Aurors swooped down on Malfoy Manor with warrants and subpoenas.  That the majority of the Malfoy assets had been frozen until the Ministry could determine whether or not they had been lawfully obtained, and that at the end of the investigation it was quite possible that all Draco Malfoy would have to his name was the immaculately tailored, Italian-made robe on his back. No one guessed this because Draco was a master at hiding his emotions and at saying one thing while he thought another.  Draco smiled bitterly to himself.  Those were basic survival skills, if you were a Malfoy.

The turn of his thoughts reminded him a bit of Ginny Weasley's words to him in the corridor.  "Basic first aid healing spell.  You're welcome, Malfoy."  Not that he had thanked her.  He touched his healed nose.  It was only right that she'd fixed it, considering she'd broken it to begin with.  Still, he was intrigued.  She'd been about to walk away, as he himself would have done, but instead she had turned back to help him.  She didn't have to.  Humiliating though it might have been, he'd have found his way to Madame Pomfrey and gotten himself fixed up.  She didn't have to, he thought, but she did.  This was puzzling.  It must be a manifestation of the infamous Gryffindor honor -- a weakness, his father was fond of pointing out, that should be exploited at every turn.

Draco thought of his meeting with Professor Snape.  With his connections in the Ministry, of course the teacher would have heard.  He had been half-afraid that Snape would do something uncharacteristic and offer him sympathy.  That would have been intolerable.  Mercifully, Snape had remained his cold and sneering self.  Instead of sympathy, he had made a proposal which was so outlandish Draco had nearly laughed in his face.  When he saw that the Potions Master was serious, he had composed himself and promised to think it over. 

"You don't have to do this," Snape had said, watching him carefully.  "I didn't have to do it either.  But I did."

"I'm not you," Draco had replied with something very like scorn.  As an afterthought, he added, "Sir."

"No," said Snape, refusing to rise to his bait.  "We will agree on what you are not.  But I wonder if you know what it is that you are, young Malfoy.  Here is a chance to find out.  Think about it."

Draco stared at the ceiling, the events of the day swirling in his head, until gradually, his eyes closed.  While he slept, he dreamed of red hair and flashing blue eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Let me see if I have this straight," said Hermione.  "Ron talks to dragons."

"Uh huh."  Ron nodded, taking a huge swig of pumpkin juice and rummaging about in the hamper Ginny had brought up from the kitchens.  The four of them were lounging about Hermione's room, snacking on cold chicken and ham and cheese sandwiches.

"Actual dragons, the big fire-breathing ones."

"Yup."

"Not, say, imaginary purple ones, like his special friend Woober?"

"I was 7 years old and that was a secret!" Ron said, furiously glaring at Ginny, whose mouth was quivering suspiciously. Ron grabbed a pillow from Hermione's bed and hurled it at his sister, who was now making noises like a strangled kitten.

"And when did you make this little discovery?"

"The summer after 5th year," said Ron.  "It was when Harry and I went to visit Charlie at the dragon reserve in Romania.  You know, right after you and I broke --"

"Erm, yes. Well," Hermione broke in hastily, not looking at Harry.  "I remember there being reports of suspicious Death Eater activity there.  Another prank like the one at the Quidditch World Cup when they sent up the Dark Mark to frighten people."

"There was a bit more to it than that, actually" said Harry.

They noticed the smell first.  Thick, acrid smoke that stung the nostrils and caught in the throat.  Stumbling from the bunkhouse where they'd been sleeping, Harry and Ron could see great columns of smoke billowing from the north-eastern corner of the camp.  They could hear the shouts of the dragoneers as they rushed to extinguish the blaze.

"Ron," said Harry.  "Isn't that where the dragon pens are located?"

Ron looked at him.  "Grab your wand.  Let's go."

As they raced across the large field that separated the living quarters from the dragon pens they noticed an eerie, flickering glow that seemed to bathe everything in a greenish light.  Harry thought at first it might be from the flames, but it was much too bright for that.  And besides, it seemed to be coming from directly over head.

"Look!"  Ron pointed.  Hovering above the camp was the image of a skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth – the chosen symbol of Voldemort and his followers.  Ron remembered his father saying that the Death Eaters sent it into the sky whenever they had killed, and a cold dread settled in his guts.

"But the Death Eaters didn't kill anyone, did they?" asked Ginny.  "We'd have heard."

"They set fire to the hatchery," said Ron in a flat voice.  "And before they did, they sealed the pens where the dragonets were kept with an unbreakable spell.  No one could get in.  Or out," he added significantly.

Hermione gasped.  "You mean --"

"The babies screamed as they burned," said Ron, dully.  His face showed no emotion, but his fists were clenched so tightly that the whites showed around his knuckles.

The adult dragons, maddened by the cries of the young ones, had broken free of their pens and were hurling themselves against the high stone walls that enclosed the hatchery.  The dragoneers now found themselves preoccupied with calming the great beasts before they harmed themselves, or, in their fury, their human care-takers.  Harry and Ron stood watching the struggle, wanting desperately to help but not knowing what was needed.  Charlie's red hair was easily visible amongst the darting workers, but it seemed best that they stay out of his way.

"What now?" Harry asked.

"I dunno," said Ron. 

Heartbreakingly, the cries of the dragonets had stopped, although the fire still burned.  The air was heavy with the grief and rage of the humans and dragons alike, and with the stench of death.  Harry blinked and tried to swallow.  Smoke – or something – seemed to be clogging his throat.  Beside him, Ron had his hands pressed to his temples as though he had a headache.  Perhaps the . . . smoke was bothering him, too.  Harry looked away to give him time to collect himself.

Hermione was white-faced.  For a moment, she looked as though she might speak, but then apparently thought better of it.  Sliding down next to Harry, who was sitting on the rug with his back against the bed, she laid a hand on his arm.  He said nothing, but his hand came up to cover hers.

Ginny, tears standing in her eyes, went to her brother, who sat on the rug opposite Harry.  Sitting beside him, she put both arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, unsure of whether this gesture was meant to comfort Ron or herself.  At first he stiffened, and it seemed as though he would push Ginny away.  Then, sighing, he gathered her to him in an awkward, one-armed hug.

Slowly, they made their way back to the cluster of low buildings that comprised the living quarters and mess hall.  With the fire now extinguished, it was obvious that they could be of no help here.  Neither boy spoke as they trudged across the grassy field, where only that morning they had watched, wide-eyed with delight as the dragoneers put their magnificent charges through their paces.  Fitted with riding straps and a kind of harness that rode just above the wing joint, over the blade of the shoulder, a dragon would extend its forepaw in an oddly dignified gesture and allow a rider to mount.  Then the great winged beasts had put on a wildly acrobatic aerial display that had Harry thinking wistfully for the first time ever that perhaps Quidditch was not the most exciting sport in the world.  Now, Harry and Ron could hear the mournful keening coming from the dragon pens.  It carried through the still night air and raised the hairs on the back of their necks.

The cries faded as they continued walking, and they approached the bunkhouses in silence.  After the noise and frantic activity of the fire, the quiet seemed oppressive.  It hung like a thick blanket over the camp.  Harry twitched his shoulders uneasily.  He had a strange, prickly feeling, as though someone – or something – was watching.

"Ron," said Harry, his voice sounding abnormally loud in the hushed darkness, "D'you notice anything . . ." He broke off, staring.

Ron, following closely behind him, did not see him stop and ran into him.  "Oof!  Harry, what the bloody . . ." Then he saw what had halted Harry in his tracks.

All about the courtyard that surrounded the mess hall and in between the bunkhouses lay bodies.  When Harry and Ron had run off towards the fire, the living quarters had been far from deserted.  While the dragoneers fought the blaze, the mess hall staff and the medi-wizards who staffed the infirmary had remained behind, preparing to treat the casualties. 

There had also been a group of visiting students, a delegation from the Junior International Wizarding Federation which was monitoring the status of endangered magical creatures.  Some of the dragons at the reserve fell under this category.  This was the last stop in a 6 week tour for the group, which consisted of students from several different countries, one of whom was . . .

"Fleur!"  Ron had been red-faced and tongue-tied as usual in the presence of the veela girl when she had smilingly greeted them at lunch.  Now, he raced towards the bunkhouse where she had been sleeping, along with the other student delegates.

Harry used his wand to send up red sparks, which would summon the others from across the way, and he began checking the bodies nearest him for signs of life.  There were none.  He could find no visible wounds or indication that there had been a physical struggle.  He recognized the plump, matronly witch who had dished up his breakfast.  "You're too skinny, dear," she had said, winking as she gave him an extra helping.  She lay lifeless at his feet, her features frozen in an expression of indescribable terror. 

Harry turned and was neatly sick into a bush.  Who or what could have done this?  His mind was racing.  Deep down, though, he knew.  Who knew, better than he did what the Death Curse looked like?  Though a part of him knew it to be hopeless, he continued to check each body, praying that he was wrong.

After what could have been several moments or several years, Ron emerged from the bunkhouse.  "She's not in there," he reported.  He refrained from saying what he had found in there.  Harry could guess.

From away across the field, they could see a small crowd of people.  Why did they not just Apparate, Harry wondered.  Not that it would do anyone here any good.  Not now.  As he continued to observe the group's slow progress, he saw why they walked.  They were bringing the wounded.  Evidently the dragons had been subdued, but at a price.

"Harry."  Ron's whisper was soft, but urgent.  "Over there, by the trees."

Harry turned in time to see several dark-cloaked figures disappearing into the forest.  Before he could say anything, Ron was charging, wand drawn, in the direction they had taken.  "After them!"

Swearing, Harry tore off after his friend.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You did WHAT?!"  Hermione was incredulous.

Ron shrugged.  "We couldn't wait for the others.  They were getting away."

Ginny had released her hold on her brother.  "How many were killed?"  She was beyond tears now.  This couldn't possibly be real.

"Dozens."  He did not look at her.

"They must've had a hell of time doing Memory Charms on everyone to keep this from getting out," Hermione said.  She saw, vividly, in her mind the corpse-strewn camp.  "How could no one have heard of this?"

"The Ministry did not want the public to start panicking," said Harry.  "Most people agreed voluntarily to have their memories wiped.  You can understand why."

"But not you."

"No," said Ron.  "Some things are should not be forgotten."

"A year and a half you two have been carrying this around and you never said."  Hermione shook her head.  "So this is why you wanted to become Aurors.  You could have told me.  Should have."  She was looking at Harry as she said this.

"I would not risk you."  Harry spoke quietly and his voice made her shiver.  "You have no idea what they did."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When they regained consciousness, they were sitting, bound with their backs against each other in the center of a flaming ring.  Harry's glasses were missing and he vaguely recalled losing them in a scuffle with the Death Eaters – there was no doubt now of the identity of the dark-cloaked people.  Memory returned in bits and pieces.

"After them?!" he croaked.  His throat hurt and he wondered how long he had been unconscious.  "After them?  That was your plan of attack?"  Harry could not see Ron's face, but he felt him shrug impatiently.

"Look, Potter, I didn't see you coming up with any brilliant save-the-day strategies.  I was pressed for time." 

"Well, considering that they captured us in about two seconds, I think we can safely say your idea sucked."  Harry squinted at the dark shapes beyond the flames.  He thought he could hear chanting.

"Bite me, okay?"  Ron had no trouble seeing the Death Eaters who stood just beyond the flickering ring.  The situation did not look at all promising.

"I am never letting you watch my DVDs again.  Those Muggle action flicks have softened your brain."  Harry flexed his arm experimentally and experienced a sharp, stabbing pain.  Of course, their bindings were magical.

"Shut it, will you?  I've got a blinding headache.  What the hell is that buzzing sound, anyway?"  Ron shook his head, but the humming only increased.

"I don't know what you're talking about.  I don't hear any buzzing."

"How can you not hear that?  It's like . . ." Ron trailed off as he concentrated on the curiously electric sensation that filled his head and seemed to be focused at the base of his skull.  He didn't know it, but what he was experiencing was something like a short wave radio being adjusted.  The buzzing increased and then sharpened into recognizable patterns.  "Voices.  I'm hearing voices."

"Um, Ron?"  Harry wondered just how hard a knock his friend had taken during the Death Eater fight.  "Didn't you once tell me that hearing voices is not a good thing?"

But Ron wasn't listening, at least, not to him.  The voices were chattering excitedly now, although there seemed to be an underlying tone of sadness.

[He hears us.]

[I knew it; I knew he was one.] !triumph!

[Hush, Fanny.  You knew no such thing.  Didn't you say he looked a bit weedy when we first saw him?]

Ron frowned.  Weedy?

[He can hear us Tel.  Even the other one can only sense our emotions if we transmit them strongly enough.] image of Charlie

[And would that have saved our young ones?  If we could have Called the human?] !sorrow/grief/despair!

 [Maybe not.  But we must help this one now, if we can.  The Kulshedra comes.]

!agreement! [The other as well.  Have you touched his mind?  Such power in one so young.] 

"Harry," said Ron.  "I think they're going to try to help us."

"Who?  The imaginary voices?"  Harry continued to struggle against the bonds.  He didn't know why the Death Eaters hadn't just killed them outright, but he was sure it wasn't because they were having a sudden change of heart about the whole evil lifestyle choice.  "C'mon Ron, see if you can move your . . ."

The wall of fire encircling them suddenly flared and burned green.  With a start, Harry felt something warm nestled against his leg.  Ron jerked in surprise as well, causing the bonds to sting them painfully. 

On the ground lay Fleur, barely conscious and moaning.  Her body was covered with wounds and bruises, some fresh and some already in the last stages of healing.  Ron was shocked to note that she appeared to have lost weight.  It didn't make sense.  They had just seen her at lunch.  If she had been abducted in the Death Eater attack, it would only have been hours ago.  Certainly not long enough for her to sustain these kinds of injuries.

Neither Ron nor Harry had very much time to wonder about this because several things happened next that required all of their attention.  The first was that Peter Pettigrew, former rat and current lackey of Voldemort, came striding through the flames as though they were nothing more than bath curtains.  His silver hand gleamed as he gestured almost negligently towards them and the bonds fell away.

The boys leapt up, staggering as their legs, asleep the last few hours, tingled excruciatingly.  They had no wands, but both were determined not to go down without a fight.

Hello?  Ron thought, experimentally, in case the voices were still there.  No answer.  They were on their own.

Next, quite unbelievably, an enormous snake with wings rose up out of the earth beside Fleur and started talking to Ron. 

[So.  It is you.] !amusement! [You don't know how I have longed to meet you.]

"Ah, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't really feel that way about you.  Not really my type, you see.  Bit too scaly."

Harry stared at his friend in amazement.  "You can understand that thing?"

"Yeah.  It's like those voices I was telling you about earlier.  Why, can you hear it, too?"

"Well, yes.  It's speaking Parseltongue, isn't it?"

Pettigrew had not moved during this exchange, but the snake creature had moved closer and was now hovering above them.  Its strange yellow eyes peered into Harry's green ones.  It was so close Harry could feel the puffs of its breath stir his hair. 

[Ahh, yes.  I feel it!] !excitement!  It turned to Pettigrew.  [This is the one.  Tell your master I am pleased.  I will take the other as well.] !hunger/excitement!

Pettigrew bowed obsequiously, and in the instant his back was turned, Ron hurled himself upon the man who had once posed as his pet.  Harry, blind and wandless, did the only thing he could think of.  Stooping, he grabbed a fistful of dirt and flung it directly into the glaring yellow eyes of the winged snake.  It shrieked in pain and fury and emitted a blast of fire that Harry narrowly avoided by dropping to the ground and rolling sideways.  As he did so, he grabbed Fleur, dragging her with him.

[That was stupid, boy.] !rage/anger/pain! [You cannot begin to imagine the ways in which you will suffer for this.] !rage/hunger/excitement!

The beast lashed its tail wildly, stirring up clouds of dust.  Having the advantage of surprise, Ron had succeeded in knocking Pettigrew to the ground, face first, and was pummeling him from behind.  Initially, Pettigrew was too stunned to respond but recovered enough to work an arm free.  Again, the silver hand gestured, and the flames parted to admit the Death Eaters, who immediately rushed to his aid.

Oh boy, thought Harry.  This is it.  Either that snake thing is going to eat us or the Death Eaters will hit us with the Avada Kedavra.  Neither eventuality was appealing.  He let go of Fleur and dove in to help Ron.  If they were going to die, he might as well get in a few good licks on Rat Boy first.  He swung his fist hard and connected satisfyingly.

"OW!"  Ron clutched his jaw, reeling backward. "What the hell did you do THAT for?!"

"Oops.  Sorry," muttered Harry.  "Can't see too well right now."

The Death Eaters were advancing towards them, wands out.  Pettigrew grinned and reached out with his glowing hand.  Above them the snake screamed and hissed.  Assuming an instinctively defensive position, Ron and Harry found themselves once more back to back.

It was horribly poetic, Harry thought.  He was about to be killed by same bastard who had betrayed his parents.  He thought of his mother and father, nothing more than misty images to him, and how they had once counted Pettigrew among their closest friends.  A rage began to build inside him.  THE . . . HELL . . . WITH . . . THIS!  He could feel something hot and powerful coursing through his veins.  It seemed to be centered just over his solar plexus. He felt as though he were going to fly out of skin.   And then somehow, he knew.  He knew that even though they were outnumbered and without their wands, he and Ron would get out of this one.  He knew that he would kill the first person that made a move towards them, and along with the rage, he could feel a wild exhilaration that made him laugh suddenly.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Ron asked, accusingly.  "This is great.  What a great time for you to go off the deep end.  And you make fun of me for hearing voices."  Which reminded him of something. 

Okay, if I'm not crazy, now would be a really good time for you to help us out here, Ron thought to the invisible voices.  He bared his teeth at Pettigrew and decided that if he was indeed crazy, he might as well go with it.  "You don't scare me, you verminous prat," he yelled.  "You touch me, you die!"  For good measure, he cocked his fists, throwing in another line from one of the Muggle action movies he so enjoyed.  "Taste my pain, bitch!"

At that moment the world exploded in a frenzy of wings, claws, and fiery breath.  The Death Eaters scattered under the attack and were pursued by vengefully screeching dragons.

"Stand and fight, you cowards," Pettigrew shrieked as he scurried towards the trees.

Harry and Ron stood open-mouthed, too shocked to move.  "Well what do you know," said Ron, smugly.  "It worked."  He turned to Harry and blanched.  "Uh, Harry?"

"Yeah?"  Harry couldn't take his eyes from the dragons as they dove and flamed.

"You're, um, glowing.  And you're sort of, um, hovering."

Harry looked down and saw that his feet were indeed a couple of inches off the ground.  "Oh."  He took a deep breath and mentally unclenched whatever it was that he'd been about to wield, and was relieved when the glowing stopped and his feet touched ground.  "I'll tell you about it later."

The snake creature, hissing defiantly, winked out of sight in a green flash.  The Death Eaters, bleeding and in some cases burned, were Apparating away from the scene at a remarkable rate.  Pettigrew had vanished.

"Help me with her," said Ron, as he tried to lift a half-conscious Fleur.

A dragon with dark-green scales and long, glittering golden horns settled to the ground in front of them.  It folded its wings and regarded Ron with gleaming, opalescent eyes.

[Sorry we were late.  Our care-takers had taken great pains to secure us after the . . . the attack.  It was difficult for us to extricate ourselves.] !pain/sorrow/determination!

Ron scarcely dared to breathe.  It was talking to him!  Apparently, he was not crazy.

"What's it doing?"  Harry asked, eyeing the dragon apprehensively.  The last time he'd been this close to a dragon, it had been doing its best to roast him alive during the Tri-Wizard tournament.

"Didn't you hear what it said?  It was apologizing for taking so long to rescue us."  Ron's voice was awed.

Harry stared at his friend.  "No. I don't hear anything."

"But . . . but . . . you could hear that snake thing . . ."

"Well, yeah.  It was a snake.  I can talk to those.  Are you trying to tell me that you can talk to dragons?"

Ron swallowed.  Aside from beating the pants off of anyone at chess, he wasn't aware that he possessed any special abilities.  He watched action movies.  He knew there was a hero and a sidekick, and he had no illusions about which role he played.

[It's all right.] !amusement! [Tell him.  You are a Dragon Empath.  It runs in your blood.]

"What are you talking about?"

"I said," Harry repeated, "are you telling me you can talk to dragons?"

"No, I wasn't asking you," Ron said absently.  "I was asking her.  The dragon."

"Well, I guess that answers that question," said Harry.

[The other of your Blood image of Charlie is also somewhat empathic.  It is why he chose to work with us.  But his perception is very limited.  In you, the power runs true.] !gladness/welcome/recognition!

Evidently, the dragons had roused their handlers, and dragoneers were now Apparating into the clearing.  Two wizards were administering emergency magical first aid to Fleur, while another witch insisted that Harry and Ron sit and be examined for injuries.

The other dragons ranged themselves behind the one that had spoken to Ron and sat with wings folded, docile as house cats, watching the proceedings with half-lidded eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So there you have it."  Ron leaned back against a cushion he had propped behind him.  He searched the hamper hopefully for another piece of chicken and shrugged resignedly when he found none.

Hermione had grabbed a quill and parchment and was scribbling furiously.  "Okay, I have a bunch of questions.  I want to look up some things.  There's just so much . . . I mean, Ron, did you talk to anyone about being an empath?  Did you talk to anyone else in your family about it?  The dragon said it ran in your blood, right?  And Harry, have you ever experienced that sort of power surge since then?  What did it feel like?  And what was that thing the dragons mentioned?  The Kulshedra?  I've got to look that up.  And why were you interested in those Muggle disappearances that were in the paper?  Oh, how could you not have told me about all this?  Think of all the time we've been wasting.  Well, never mind, I can see why you'd have a hard time talking about it, and I know how boys are about keeping their little secrets, but honestly . . ." 

The rest of her words were cut off as Ron firmly clapped a hand over her mouth.  He looked at Harry with sympathy.  "Good luck with all this, mate.  I'm for bed."  He let go of Hermione's mouth and, ignoring her indignant sputtering, pecked her on the cheek.  "'Night, 'Mione.  C'mon, Gin, let's go.  I want to check on Fleur."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As they climbed the stairs, Ginny said, "Ron?  Can I ask you something?"

He paused.  "Depends.  Are you going to do a Hermione and put me through the third degree?  'Cause I'm just about out of fascinating revelations tonight."

Ginny hesitated.  "What happened to Fleur?  Not today, I mean.  Then."

Ron sighed.  "I don't think I'll ever really know."  It was several moments before he continued.  "I think that wherever that . . . thing took her, it was bad.  She was only gone for a few hours, but from the condition she was in, it seemed like she'd been gone for weeks.  She had . . . injuries that were old and already healed.  She wasn't the only one who'd been taken, you know."

Ginny's eyes widened.

"Two other girls were taken from the student delegation. They were never found.  And there were stories of girls in the nearby village who'd gone missing as well, but a connection was never proved."

"But why her?  Why Fleur?"

Ron shrugged, his expression bleak.  "She and the other girls had the bunks nearest the door.  They were convenient."

"At first, you know, right after," Ron went on, "she couldn't even talk. It was like she was trapped in her own head.  And then when she did eventually start to recover, it was obvious that whole parts of her memory were just gone.  She didn't remember her family or school or anything." Or me, he didn't say.  She didn't remember me as the daft little git whose most memorable accomplishment was having Harry Potter as a friend.  To her, I was a hero.  "Her family did not handle the news well.  Wanted to put her in an institution.  She was alone and scared, so . . ."

"You came to her rescue," said Ginny, with a half smile.  "You are a good guy, Ron Weasley."

"Yeah, well, I might have had an ulterior motive or two, when I invited her to come stay at the Burrow that summer."

Ginny remembered how their parents had forbidden anyone to ask questions.  The pale, silent girl had simply been accepted into the Weasley household, like a wounded stray in need of a place to heal.  Which in a way she had been.  Not that Fleur had disrupted much.  In midst of the colorful, noisy Weasley clan, she had faded into the background like a beautiful ghost.

"She trusted me," said Ron.  "I was one of the only people in the world she knew.  This is going to sound cheesy, so if you ever repeat it, I will deny ever having said it, but when she looked at me, it made me want to be heroic.  It made me feel like I could be."

One of the things Ginny loved best about her brother was that, for all his blustering, he really was a humble person.  He had no idea that being brave and kind and loyal were heroic traits.  She thought about all the owls he had gotten from Fleur after he'd returned to school and she had gone back to Beauxbatons.  She thought that even in her wounded state, Fleur had been able to see that quite clearly.

"Fleur had to re-learn a lot of things at school," said Ron, as if he knew Ginny'd been thinking of Fleur at Beauxbatons.  "It was rough.  And when she asked if she could come stay with us for the summer again, I won't deny I was happy about it.  She said she missed me."  Even now, his voice held a touch of bewilderment.  "You know, I asked her one time if she needed me or if she just needed someone."

"What did she say?"

Ron grinned.  "I decided it didn't matter."

They had reached the room now, but Ginny had one last question.

"Ron, did you . . . did you keep from telling me all this stuff because of what happened to me with Tom Riddle?"

"What, like, did I want to protect you?"

"No.  I mean, did you think maybe I couldn't be trusted?"  Ginny's face was red.  She had to know.

Ron squeezed his sister's hand.  "Never.  Really, I mean it."  He waited till she met his eyes.  "I just wasn't ready to talk about it.  Not even with Harry, and he was there.  But if I had wanted to tell someone in our family, it would have been you."

Ginny grinned, relieved. "Thanks.  Thanks for trusting me."

"Although," said Ron, "I'm not sure why I should, after the whole Woober incident."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry shut the door behind Ron and Ginny and turned in time to see Hermione sweep an armload of parchment off her desk and into the waste bin.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, that was some research I was doing earlier.  I was trying to find out about the Dark Mark, when it was used, symbolism, etc.  You know, trying to figure out what was going on."  She raised an eyebrow.  "Clearly I was on the wrong track there, but now I know what kinds of things I need to be looking up."

"Later."

"Actually, I should have some of the books I need right here.  I can just – mmmph!"

For the sake of expediency, Harry abandoned verbal argument.  He simply pinned her to the wall and proceeded to kiss her senseless.