Author's note: I'm posting this chapter for Cyndi, and then I'll be switching to my other story for a while, so expect a delay on future parts.

Also, writing this chapter didn't quite flow smoothly, so any criticism, suggestions, or advice would be much appreciated.

"I think perhaps what people are saying about you is right, Potter." Draco eyed him up and down. "You are crazy."

Harry couldn't help but notice where Draco's gaze finally rested. On his forehead. "Fine line, I suppose." Between genius and insanity. Between being the Golden Boy of the entire magical world and being some pitiable mental case with delusions.

Maybe he was actually crazy. Just not in the way people were saying.

"You don't even know what side I'm on," Draco reminded him. For that matter, he wasn't exactly sure about Harry anymore either.

"Does it really matter?" Harry asked.

"I should think it would," Draco replied. "Or at least you'd want to know."

Knowing if Draco was with or against him. Harry pondered that. One way made Draco an accomplice, the other an assassin. But he wouldn't ask it. It was better that he not know.

"It's a matter of risks, Malfoy," stated Harry, preferring to view it all as some grand equation. Although in reality, it was Russian Roulette. "If we share a mutual goal, you'll do it because you know if you refuse, I'll ask another. And you know you're the best person for the task."

The best to commit murder. Yet Draco did know Harry was right. He likely was the best option. For several reasons.

"I'd be risking myself." Draco felt foolish the instant he said it.

It was this one shot only, a single chance. If Draco could increase the odds of success, then... "It's worth dying for," Harry said, committed.

There was silence for a moment.

"And if you're dark, you'll do it because I've handed you a get out of Azkaban free card."

The only reason for Draco to refuse would be if he were neither white nor black, but a shade of gray.

There was another quiet moment that stretched between the two young wizards, both deep in contemplation. Then Draco eventually nodded.

"My answer is yes."

Harry lay awake, his eyes not on his open book.

The mark on his arm was burning again. He waited for the pain to ebb.

He knew how often they met, knew where they gathered, saw through the veil of night that would shield them...

It happened more and more frequently. The visions came almost nightly as well now. Like it was all mounting, becoming, preparing.

The time was drawing near.

He closed the book, then headed for the Owlry. He quickly located Hedwig. "I need you to take something to Hermione for me," he said softly to her.

He was unable to enter the girls' room due to the stairway becoming an impassible ramp should any male try to go up it. His owl, however, wouldn't encounter the same obstacle as the bird had no need of steps. Hermione could open the window for him to return to the Owlry.

He scribbled a quick note. "Common Room. Now." He folded the paper and wrote Hermione's name on it, then gave it to Hedwig.

It was less than ten minutes later that a sleepy Hermione met him, wearing her nightgown and slipping on a robe. "Harry, what's going on?" she asked worriedly.

"I wanted to show you something."

She squinted at the clock and then at Harry. "Now?" she whispered, afraid of being caught out of bed.

Harry wondered if he found her constant attention to following rules annoying or endearing. "Yes now." He handed her the book.

"What is it?" she asked, her tone still hushed, but now also holding fascination.

He smiled at the eager gleam of anticipation in her eyes. It was a look she only ever got from a new book, a specific mix of curiosity and excitement. Harry beamed. "It's a book, Hermione," he teased, allowing himself to enjoy this moment. He hardly ever did anything that pleased her lately.

She tried to open it, but it was as if the pages were glued together. She looked to Harry in question, then slipped her wand from her robe. She'd made sure to grab it when she'd gotten Harry's note. Their middle of the night adventures usually required a bit of magic. "Alohomora."

The book fell open. All the pages were blank. Hermione furrowed her brow, puzzled. "Is it supposed to be a journal or something?"

"Better." Harry grinned and then touched the edge of the book. The pages all began filling with text.

"Whoa..." Hermione gasped softly. The writing was some kind of index. She flipped through page after page of book titles, authors, and dates. "What is it?"

"Hogwarts, a History," Harry ordered the book. The index vanished and new writing took its place. It now displayed word for word the contents of the book Harry had requested.

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Where did you get this? How does it work?"

"I'll show you." There was an old copy of 'The Daily Prophet' lying on a nearby table, and Harry took the book from her and touched it to the paper.

The index appeared once more, and it now held the new entry. He requested it and glanced at the list of articles. Hermione read over his shoulder, then picked up the original paper to compare.

"'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache,'" Harry read aloud. "A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence."

Hermione was all too familiar with Rita Skeeter's words. "Teenage girls can be cruel," she replied simply, glancing down at the floor instead of at him. She took the book from his hand, and watched the text disappear once more before setting it down on the table.

"It still hurts you, doesn't it?" Harry said, resting his hand on her arm. "The things people say about you because of me?"

"No," she lied, shaking her head. "Somebody probably just left that here to be funny. It happens... from time to time. Stuff like that. It doesn't bother me anymore."

"I wish it wouldn't happen. It shouldn't." He knew it still did bother her. "If I could make it all go away, I would."

She sighed. It would be nice if vindication was so easy. Just requiring a wish. "You can't."

He could.

Harry couldn't take away the past, but he wouldn't be the cause of any future pain for her. At least not for much longer. "It's all going to be okay, you know?" He caught her eyes for a second. "I promise."

She tried to smile at him. "Tell me more about your book," she requested, changing the subject.

"Well," Harry continued, "it does have one downside, or perhaps an upside in some cases."

He snatched up the newspaper and threw it into the fireplace. "You can't read anything that the source for has been destroyed."

Instead of lecturing him for burning somebody else's property, she just laughed. And she smiled with him and it reached her eyes. "I like your book, Harry. Thank you for showing it to me."

He placed it in her hands. "It's yours."

"What?" She gaped at him. "Harry, I can't accept this."

"I want you to have it." The book had nothing more it could offer Harry now anyway. "I've already linked it to everything in the Restricted Section, plus a few of Snape's and Dumbledore's books, and also some stuff in Hogsmeade."

She looked about to protest that he couldn't just read those things without permission.

"You know you're secretly glad I did it," he teased her. "Now come on, give me your hand."

She did as instructed, and he set her hand on the cover, still held in his. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," Harry announced. Above their fingers, words suddenly glowed.

Property of:
Harry Potter

"Your turn," he told her, his tone playful. "I'm vouching for you to the book, so state your name and then swear."

She eyed him skeptically for a moment before almost nervously speaking. "Granger. Hermione..." It felt odd introducing herself to a book. "And I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Her name wrote itself beneath his, and Harry blurted out laughing at the way the book displayed it. "Granger comma Hermione! Awww, that's bloody perfect!"

She gave his shoulder a soft punch, and then couldn't help but giggle along with him.

Harry then silently, wistfully, watched her as she read through the index of the all the books she could now access. This time when he lowered his hand, the print stayed. He liked seeing her so happy. But the moment still held a bittersweet twinge for him.

If she had any idea why he'd given her that book...

Well, he would just never tell her. Harry sighed.

"We can add Ron to this, right?" she asked, knowing he likely wouldn't use it but would still feel left out if the text appeared for her and Harry but not him.

"Sure," Harry agreed. "We can add Ron."

She smiled and returned to reading. Harry leaned over and kissed her cheek lightly. "Night, Hermione."

"Good night, Harry," she mumbled back, nose still in the book.

One last sad smile crossed his face before he turned and headed back to his room. For some reason, it felt as though his childhood had just ended. He'd grown up a long time ago, at least emotionally. But tonight, leaving Hermione, he actually felt it.

It felt like goodbye.

TBC...

HELP WANTED: If anybody knows what happened to the Mirror of Erised, who made it, and if there is only one, please contact me. Thanks.

Oh, and feedback is strongly wanted. Good or bad.