Edited 20th February 2014 to remove review responses and superfluous author's notes.

11. Hell and Hearsay

It was Double Potions, the lesson that the Gryffindors hated and feared the most. Draco Malfoy actually looked forward to it; not only was Snape head of Slytherin House, but Potions was his best – and favourite – subject. He was perhaps two minutes late, as usual, but the teacher merely paused to give him time to sit down – next to Blaise, of course, there were no other seats left – and then continued to explain the potion that they were aiming to make that day. NEWT level potions were really complicated, and the board was crammed with complicated instructions that had to be followed to the letter. Hermione, he noticed, was jotting notes down enthusiastically; next to him, Blaise was drawing arcane doodles on a scrap of parchment.

Draco felt a little uncomfortable. He didn't know how Blaise would react to him. Would he be embarrassed? After all, the last time they had spoken, he had broken down into tears in the Slytherin common room. Such outbursts often lead to discomfort and awkwardness. Sure enough, Blaise shot a somewhat resentful look at him. That look was tragic; it composed all of the pain of the last six years of the other boy's life, and left Draco feeling that it was somehow his fault.

"Don't look at me like that, Blaise," he said, so quietly that no one else could hear. "I haven't told anyone. I won't, either."

Blaise had not realised that he was looking at Malfoy. He had felt him sit down, and just knowing he was there had caused him to think of the last time they spoke. He had cursed himself later for breaking down and showing such weakness, especially in front of Malfoy. Why should he care if Malfoy was too weak to fight his father and his father's master? People are different; Blaise was ashamed that he had held his own behaviour, his own choices, up as an example to his enemy. He had been surprised by Malfoy's reaction. Who would have suspected that he had an ounce of compassion in his dark soul?

Blaise snapped back to the present moment with difficulty. "I'm sorry, Draco," he faltered. "It seems we have to work together. I know you don't like me, but please, don't hurt me."

Draco was nonplussed for a minute. Then he realised what Blaise meant. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to have to talk at all. With a start of surprise, Draco found that he understood Blaise. Normally knowing someone's weakness was an advantage for him; all the easier to bring someone down if you knew where to aim your arrows. But not today, not after Blaise had sobbed furiously in his arms in the common room, until he had thought that his own cold heart would break. He just didn't have it in him to be cruel today.

He just nodded, but Blaise's face was suffused with relief. They commenced with the potion making. Draco looked on in admiration. Blaise really was an expert. His nimble fingers worked quickly, slicing roots to the exact size in a minimum of time. He could be a potions master when he was older, Draco thought. Then he shivered as he realised that that was assuming that they would all be allowed to grow older.

Blaise cast the roots silently into Draco's silver cauldron and watched with a small satisfied smile on his face as the potion steamed and turned pale purple. His dark eyes flicked up to the board again and he began on the next ingredient. Draco realised that the tables had been turned here completely. Far from being in control of the situation as he was used to, he found himself intimidated by the extreme air of indifferent efficiency that surrounded Blaise.

And the boy still wouldn't speak. Draco felt a little irritated at that. After all, he had been conquering his instincts to comfort him when he was in tears in the common room. It went against the Malfoy grain to do such a thing. But then, one kind act does not erase five years of torment. It was unfair for him to ever expect Blaise to like him. He cast beetle eyes into the potion and saw it change from lilac to cyan. Blaise met his eyes as the potion began to emit silver shimmering smoke, and smiled.

Predictably, on the other side of the class, Harry and Hermione were not having such luck. Hermione, of course, was very precise and almost as good at potion brewing as Blaise. They would have been perfectly fine had it not been for Harry's distraction. He just couldn't concentrate properly. Hermione constantly had to stop him from adding the wrong ingredient, or slicing his roots too small. It was all in vain, however, because Harry absently poured in twice the necessary amount of a rather evil smelling liquid, and the cauldron began to smoke and the potion turned a nasty shade of grey.

"Harry!" wailed Hermione.

Snape had seen. He made his way over to the hapless pair. "Well, Mr. Potter, no better at my subtle art than last year, I see. How you ever got an O in your OWL is beyond me. If your work does not improve, I might have to remove you from the course." Harry's eyes widened when he realised what that would mean. No Potions NEWT, no future career as an Auror.

Draco sniggered at this turn of events. Blaise merely raised an eyebrow in the direction of the disturbance and smiled, the thin smile of a genius tolerating fools. Everyone settled down again. This class was no longer just Gryffindor and Slytherin; it contained people from all houses in the sixth year. Draco knew that the majority of people in the room would side with him against Harry, so he just went back to his cauldron and resisted the chance to sneer.

Into the concentrated silence of the potions classroom came the Head Boy, a look of severe worry on his handsome face. Snape looked up at the disturbance, and most of the girls in the class stared. Some of them were nudging each other and giggling, Draco noticed disgustedly. He also realised that a lot of his disgust was due to jealousy, because no girl had looked at him like that, and no girl ever would.

"Mr. Fletcher," said Snape, in his usual silky voice. "Perhaps you would care to explain why you are interrupting my potions class?"

Fletcher looked frozen. Draco could see that he was having trouble getting words out. He had never seen the Head Boy not be in control before. Was that fear in the ice blue eyes? He couldn't be sure, but he was willing to bet that whatever the news was, it was not good. Draco felt an icy terror clutch at his own heart. It was starting. The wheels of war were beginning to turn, and soon he would have to make his choice.

Daniel brought the words out. "Sir, Professor Dumbledore would like you to attend an emergency staff meeting." He paused, and then looked round at all of the students in the class. "And he asked me to say to all of you that he is afraid that Lord V-Voldemort is assembling his Death Eaters. They have plans for the school. We must all be prepared." He looked at Snape, and for once the hard eyed teacher looked away. The boy looked as if he knew that all this information had come from him, from the spy in the Death Eaters' midst.

Snape stood, his black robes billowing around him, and said, "Class dismissed. All of you are to go back to your common rooms. Wait there for further news." He swept out of the room, followed by Daniel, leaving the sixth years to gossip fearfully whilst clearing out their cauldrons.

Draco looked over at Blaise. His jaw line was taut, and his eyes full of apprehension. He took a phial of the potion, murmuring, "It's a shame to waste it. I think it's gone very well." Then he waved his wand over the cauldron, and said, "Evanesco." The rest of the turquoise liquid disappeared. He looked up at Draco, who was smiling, faintly impressed though he would have been loath to admit it.

Daniel returned to the Slytherin common room after touring as many classrooms as he could find that still had students in, to find that it was full. This was unnatural. The Slytherins were not particularly social people, and hated all being jammed together in such a way. Normally, there would have been a fight. But not today, when everyone was contemplating the news. How many of them know which side they are on? Daniel thought. And how many of them will still be here when the Dark Lord has finished? His eyes rested on the one person he cared about: Blaise. If his friend was killed… well, he wouldn't be answerable for his actions against the murderer.